


Scorched Earth

by Thlayli_ra



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Bad-Ass Women, Cannibalism, Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Close Escapes, Epic Bromance, Finn and Seth Battle, Fire, Grief/Mourning, Major Illness, Mutiny in the Bullet Club, Other, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Prison, Self-Harm, So much angst, Starvation, Survival, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-04-10 13:06:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 46
Words: 274,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19089127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thlayli_ra/pseuds/Thlayli_ra
Summary: In an alternate 2011, the US was struck by an atrocity known only as The Event, during which every major city was destroyed by an unknown force and millions of lives were lost.One year later, CM Punk returns to his beloved hometown of Chicago only to find it completely devastated. With nothing left to lose, Punk will journey across the ruined landscape with best friend, Colt Cabana, by his side. His goal... to find the woman he loves.





	1. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 1 Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-1-Cover-799413025)   
>  [Punk Profile](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Punk-Profile-799414908)

     An entire year had passed since the atrocity that shook the world, known as the Event...

     ..yet the remains of Chicago were still smoking.

     Great plumes of black that spiraled into pillars holding up the grey sky above, the columns rooting themselves in the hollows of buildings he once knew so well, now nothing more than broken shells. Where was that old familiar skyline that always welcomed him home? Where was the majesty of the Sears Tower, the bold red of the CNA Centre and the distinguished age of the Trade Centre? The colours had been saturated, the soaring skyscrapers crumpled and the joy of his return as dead as his beloved hometown.

     He sniffed sharply and reeled at the smell of ash lingering in the air by a bitter breeze. The wind was silent, like everything else in the dead city. He had never known Chicago to be so quiet and the scene before him struck him like a hammer-blow to the chest. He stood for a while, frozen, surveying the incredible damage as tears filled his eyes but he was too traumatised to release them.

     Like some brain-dead zombie, he shuffled into the city he used to call home. The husk of buildings rose out of the charred earth like tombs, surrounding him on all sides as he ventured further into the graveyard. Streets he could still picture in his head were now gone, replaced with ruins, blackened by soot and smoke. The once proud towers reached out with ragged edges, reminding him of ribs protruding from a corpse. He followed the line of the ribs up towards the sky above, dark and grey as always, the clouds as thick as the smoke that choked the air.

     Walking on instinct alone, his mind dazed by his surroundings, he soon felt a sense of déjà vu, a feeling in his gut that everything was strangely familiar. He gulped down his emotion on recognising the streets where he had grown up. Something inside him had pulled him here like a beacon. Whether it was desperation, that need to feel something secure amongst all this misery, or some foolish form of hope, he didn’t know, yet here he was and he suddenly wished he had never come back at all.

     He looked at the black dirt crunching under his boots and took in a jagged breath as he lifted his gaze onto the plot before him. This had been his home since he was 15, when he stood on the doorstep with his backpack stuffed full of his belongings and asked for a place to crash for the night. It was on that doorstep that he had boldly stated he was never going back.

     It was here that he was brought in from the cold night and embraced into the warm arms of people who did not owe him a thing yet gave everything they had. Where he had been accepted, in spite of his temper and his habit for getting into trouble. Where his cold, hard exterior was no longer needed to survive and was chipped away to reveal the sensitive, kind and loyal young man inside. Where he felt loved and learned how to love in return. This was the place where he finally learned what family meant.

     And now it was gone. All that remained was the doorstep and the ash.

     He bit down hard on his lip ring to hold his emotions in check. He had told himself over and over again that it was impossible. Nobody could have survived this devastation. They were all gone. But he was nothing if not stubborn and only seeing the damage for himself would convince him.

     His legs gave out and he fell hard onto his knees. To a passing stranger, he would appear to have been praying but he had never had time for faith. He sat this way for several hours, his mind as void as the plot in front of him until he was stirred from his grief by the wind whipping his long hair and penetrating his leather jacket. He shook his head, wiped the moisture from his eyes and eased himself back to his feet, hissing as his exhausted legs protested. He gave one last, longing glance around him before moving on, heading further into the city.

 

     He had been walking for close to forty minutes and was nearing his intended destination when he became aware that he was being followed. He stopped breathing for a few seconds and listened carefully.

     There! To his left, shuffling in the alleyway. And again, to his right this time. There was more than one!

     He stood still, dropping his pack to the ground and pulled the lead pipe from his studded belt. With one hand clutching the pipe and the other curled into a fist he stood ready for a fight.

     ‘I know you’re there,’ he shouted. ‘Come out here and show yourselves.’ The street remained empty. ‘Or are you all cowards?’ he asked, coldly.

     The sickening click of a safety being removed sounded to his left and he turned his head to see a stocky man walk out of the shadows, a bandana tied around the lower half of his face. ‘You brought a pipe to a gun fight?’ the man mocked.

     ‘I’m not looking for a fight,’ he said. ‘I’m here looking for a friend.’

     ‘Your friend is dead, same as everybody else,’ the man walked closer, the pistol aimed straight at his head.

     ‘I want to see it with my own eyes,’ he retorted, winding his body up, ready for the attack.

     ‘I’d prefer you leave,’ the man said, getting closer.

     ‘Not gonna happen.’

     The man snorted a laugh. ‘What makes you think you can just walk in here?’

     A smile crept up the side of his lips. ‘I’m Chicago Made.’

   He sprang forward and with his free hand, grabbed the man’s arm that held the gun, forcing it up as his assailant let off two rounds into the air.

     ‘You’re wasting bullets,’ he chastised and swung his arm gripping the pipe. The blow was blocked but he struck the man’s leg with a nasty kick. Something in the man’s knee crunched and he fell to the ground, clutching his joint and howling in pain. He pulled his leg back and swung it straight into the man’s chest, knocking the wind from him. Again and again he slammed his shin into his attacker’s ribs until the masked man fell back, coughing and spluttering.

     He was barely able to catch his breath when an arm wrapped around his throat from behind. Just in time, he managed to get his hand between the strange arm and his neck, preventing his attacker from choking him. With a roar, he brutally swiped the lead pipe into the side of his assailant and the grip around his neck slackened. He swung around and landed a devastating blow on their face with the back of his fist and they crumpled to the ground.

     Breathing heavy now, he scanned the area around him for another ambusher, his victims scattered at his feet. He heard the crackle a second too late as the ends of the taser buried themselves into his back and his whole body convulsed with the electrical shock. He fell to the ground, his body limp and his vision blurred. Vaguely aware of footsteps approaching him, he succumbed to the blackness.

 

     He could feel hands all over his body. They were patting his legs and tugging at his arms. Some were in his hair and he felt like they were tearing chunks of it out of his scalp. He tried to bat the hands away but he couldn’t move his arms.

     ‘Check his pockets,’ a voice sounded above him.

     ‘Already have. His wallet’s mine,’ a woman’s voice replied. ‘You can have his phone.’

     ‘What do I need another dead phone for,’ the first voice scoffed. ‘I get his pack.’

     ‘No way! We split the pack.’

     He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. As the fog lifted, he could make out his surroundings, finding himself lying on the wooden floor of a dark, bare room. The windows had been boarded up and the walls reinforced with sandbags. He tried moving his hands again but they were pinned behind his back in zip ties. His feet were bare and had also been bound together. As he lay, trying to piece together his circumstances, the tugging on his hair started to get annoying and he jerked his head away.

     ‘He’s finally waking up,’ the woman noted.

     ‘He won’t be so tough now, all trussed up,’ the man laughed.

     He sharply rolled over so that he was facing his capturers and found a woman in her late 20s and a man in his late 30s looming over him.

     ‘That’s my jacket,’ he stated menacingly to the man, nodding to the leather garment he was sporting. The man leaned forward in his chair and rubbed his large hands together. He sported a bushy beard in stark contrast to his shaved head.

     ‘Mine now,’ he replied smugly. ‘Everything of yours is ours, including your life, so you’d best be nice.’

     He now looked towards the woman, who had blonde hair, shaved at the sides and peaked on top. Around her eyes, she had smeared black ash acting as some form of crude make up. She was kneeling on the ground, a pair of scissors brandished in her hand. His eyes widened on seeing a pile of dark brown hair beside her - the same spot where his head had been moments before.

     ‘What the fuck?’ he yelled at the woman. ‘You cut my hair?’

     ‘Anything sells these day,’ she shrugged. ‘We grab what we can for trading.’

     ‘Who the hell wants fucking hair?’

     ‘ _Hey_! If you want to live much longer, I suggest you pack it in with the cussing,’ the man warned and the prisoner gritted his teeth. He tried pulling his wrists apart but the zip chord held firm. For now, he would have to play along.

     ‘What do you want with me?’ he asked.

     The man held out his hand to the woman and snapped his fingers impatiently. She groaned sulkily, put her hand in her pocket and handed over a wallet. His wallet! He watched as the man opened it and pulled out his driver’s license.

     ‘Look at that, you are a Chicago boy,’ the man chuckled. Brooks. Philip Jack Brooks.’ He looked over for a reaction but he continued glaring at him in silence. ‘Born 26 October 1978, address…‘

     ‘Yeah, I know all this already,’ he said, already fed up with his abductor. ‘What’s your point?’

   ‘The point is, I’ve never seen you around here before and you look like you’ve been on the road for some time. I want some information from you, Philip.’

     ‘Punk,’ he corrected.

     ‘Huh?’

     ‘Name’s Punk,’ he explained. ‘My sisters call me Phil. And nobody calls me fucking Philip.’

     ‘What did we say about the cussing, _Philip_ ,’ the bearded man said, popping the ‘p’ at the end, which made Punk roll his eyes irritably. ‘Now, tell me more about your journey here. Which route did you take? Did you encounter any raiding parties? Were any of the borders open?’

     ‘And if I tell you, what then? Is that the part where you kill me?’ Punk smirked.

     ‘Maybe,’ the woman said stoically, ‘or if there’s any passing slavers…’

     Punk snorted. ‘I’d prefer you kill me,’ he said, honestly.

     ‘Answer the questions,’ the man said, his voice becoming threatening.

     ‘Look, I’m here looking for my friend-,’ Punk began.

     ‘Answer the questions,’ the man said, louder this time, starting to lose his patience.

     ‘He’s about my height but beefier, short cropped dark hair -‘

     ‘Nobody cares about your stupid friend,’ the woman snapped, ‘answer the questions!’

     ‘Might go by the name of Colt Cabana?’

     ‘Are you deaf or something-‘ the woman began to yell but the man placed his hand over her mouth, hushing her up.

     ‘What did you say?’

     ‘Colt Cabana. His birth name is -‘

     ‘Scott Colton,’ the man finished and Punk narrowed his eyes.

     ‘Shit,’ the woman cursed under her breath.

 

    

     ‘You got any water?’ Punk asked. He was now sat up against the wall, his hands released from their bonds but his feet still tied together as a precaution.

     ‘Here,’ the bearded man handed Punk a flask of water. ‘Once your friend gets here and confirms who you are, we’ll cut your legs loose.’

     ‘Fair enough,’ he shrugged, taking a deep drink of water. He noticed the way his captor walked with a limp. ‘So you were the guy back there with the gun?’

     ‘Name’s Joe,’ he said, sitting on his chair once again. He let out a grimace of pain as he sat.

     ‘I would say sorry about your knee, but you were aiming a gun right at my head.’

     ‘Yeah, because I was gonna shoot ya. Until you messed up my knee.’

     ‘I tried to reason with you calmly,’ Punk smirked. ‘Where’s the other guy?’

     ‘Hank’s fetching your friend. You nearly broke his jaw with that backhander. He’s pretty pissed. Even tried to strangle you while you were under so we had him guard the door.’ He paused as Punk just nodded. ‘You’re welcome, by the way.’

     ‘Yeah, thanks for attacking me then tasing me in the back.’

     ‘That was me!’ the woman said proudly, a broad smile on her face.

     ‘Yeah, I figured,’ Punk replied, ‘ It’s a good thing for you I don’t hit girls.’

     ‘Well that’s sexist,’ she scolded, which made Punk snort a laugh through his nose.

     ‘Since we’re being all ‘civil’ now, what’s your name?’ he asked.

     ‘Luci, with an ‘i’,’ she smiled, dangerously. ‘As in short for Lucifer.’

     ‘Pretty,’ mocked Punk.

     Muffled voices and footsteps approached the door and it opened to reveal Hank escorting a welcome face into the room.

     ‘This better not be a waste of my time. I was just in the middle of-‘ he stopped dead in his tracks as he spied the captive on the ground. ‘…Punk?’

     ‘Hey Colt Cabana, how you doin’?’

     In an instant, Colt was across the room and the two men grabbed each other in an emotional hug, both laughing with disbelief that the other was alive and well.

    ‘I can’t believe this, buddy. I thought you were dead,’ Colt beamed.

     ‘I thought you were a goner too,’ Punk admitted. ‘But I had to see it for myself.’

     Colt stood up and pointed to Luci who was still playing with the pair of scissors. ‘Hey, Lu, cut my friend loose. Is this how you guys treat guests, huh?’

     ‘This one tased me,’ Punk said, motioning to Luci who grudgingly freed his legs from the zip tie.

     ‘What?’ Colt spluttered. ‘Seriously, Lu?’

     ‘I didn’t know who he was,’ Luci shrugged.

     ‘This is CM Punk! The Second City Saint! The Straight Edge Saviour? None of this rings a bell?’ Luci scrunched up her face, bored. ‘Oh god,’ Colt rubbed his hand over his face in despair. ‘Let’s start over, shall we? Come on buddy, let’s get you cleaned up and shove some hot food down your throat. You look like you need it.’

     Colt gave his friend a hand to his feet and was about to head off when Punk turned to Joe and snapped his fingers. ‘Jacket?’ he said. Joe sighed heavily and slowly took off the leather jacket he had stolen from Punk and returned it to him. ‘And?’ Joe handed over his wallet. ‘I need my boots too.’ He looked over to Hank who, Punk noted, had nasty bruises down one side of his face, no doubt from Punk’s backhander during their brawl. The tall man grumbled as he removed his boots to return them.

     ‘Guess you’ll need this too,’ Luci mumbled, unenthusiastically as she handed over his pack. Colt grabbed it and put it over his shoulder.

     ‘Well, guys, it has been fun,’ Punk smiled smugly at the trio. ‘Bye now.’ He waved mockingly at them as he followed Colt out of the room.

     Once they were alone, Colt flung his arm around Punk’s shoulder and ruffled his hair playfully. ‘I can’t believe this, man,’ he cheered. ‘You’re really here! It’s like you’re a ghost or something. Where the hell have you been?’

     ‘I’ll tell you all about it later,’ Punk smiled. ‘But first, did I heard you mention something about hot food?’

     Colt let out a hearty laugh. ‘You ok to wait a while? Let me show you around first.’

     ‘Sure, what is this place?’ Punk asked, looking around the old dingy corridor.

     ‘This? Nothing, this is just one of our watch posts, this-‘ he opened the door to the dilapidated house, ‘… is New Chicago.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, I've been working on this fanfic since 2016. Now, having written over 40 chapters, it seems silly to be the only person reading it so I thought... why not? Let's post it online and see who else might like it. There's a whole lot more to come and plenty of familiar faces to introduce so stay tuned - oh, and I'll be adding links to my artwork that coincides with the story too! Enjoy!


	2. New Chicago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 2 Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-2-cover-801285787)   
>  [Colt Cabana Profile](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Colt-Cabana-Profile-801286179)

     The name, New Chicago, was far too grand to describe the scene before him but Punk tactfully kept quiet on seeing the pride in Colt’s face. In truth, it was a makeshift camp surrounded on all sides with high barricades and a series of broken down houses, reinforced with sandbags and planks of wood. However, there was one little detail, which did make Punk gape in awe.

     People!

     Hundreds of them!

     Men, women and children were bustling around the camp like an army of ants. Punk had come across small groups of people in his travels, but never so many in one place.

     ‘How many you got here?’ he asked, stunned.

     ‘244,’ Colt chuckled at his friend’s reaction. ‘Well I guess 245 with you here now.’

     ‘That’s very specific,’ Punk pointed out with bemusement.

     ‘We keep a close eye on our population,’ Colt explained. ‘These are dangerous times and we don’t want to lose anybody. We’re all one, big, happy family.’ He patted Punk on the back and extended his arm, encouraging his friend to move further into the camp. ‘We all chip in’ Colt continued, beaming from ear to ear, ‘and it’s growing every day. We do regular checks on the walls to make sure they’re secure and we’ve started building more permanent accommodation for everybody. Tents are fine and all but they’re not exactly comfortable.’

     ‘Why doesn’t anybody stay in the buildings?’ Punk asked.

     ‘We use them as guard posts. Not everybody who passes by is friendly. Ooh, come here and see this,’ Colt grabbed Punk’s shoulder and pulled him through the crowds to a large hut made out of planks of salvaged timber. ‘It’s for our meetings. It only fits about thirty of us just now but we’re gonna keep adding to it. Cool, huh?’

     ‘Yuh-huh,’ Punk said, forcing himself to look impressed at the dilapidated structure.

     The tour continued through the rows and rows of tents passing by the many inhabitants as they went. Some were sitting on the ground boiling cans of rainwater over the fire to make it safe to drink, other rushed past carrying building materials or food supplies in their arms. Most of them knew Colt and greeted him warmly as he passed by. Colt (always more of a people-person than Punk) stopped to chat or waved to those in a hurry while Punk awkwardly lingered in the background with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets, feeling everybody stare at him uneasily. They knew he was not one of them and even when Colt introduced him and they would shake his hand politely, he could see the suspicion in their eyes.

     The children, however, were the opposite and swarmed around him like he was the most fascinating spectacle in the whole camp. They tugged on his jacket (or jeans if they couldn’t quite reach) and interrogated him without mercy. Who was he? Where did he come from? How did he know Mr Colton? Did he bring them anything? Eventually, Colt shooed them away and they ran off giggling among the tents.

     ‘Sorry about that,’ Colt laughed. ‘New faces are exciting for them.’

     ‘How do you feed everybody?’ Punk asked, amazed.

     ‘We ration our food supply,’ Colt clarified. ‘We make sure everybody gets enough without depleting our stores too much. We send out raiding parties every week to some of the towns outside of the city or we trade with passing groups.’

     ‘I see,’ Punk nodded then a thought popped into his head. ‘Hey, what do you trade human hair for?’

     ‘Hair?’ Colt pulled a disgusted face. ‘Who the fucks trades hair?’

     ‘I knew it,’ Punk muttered under his breath as the thought of Luci hovering over him while he was unconscious, brandishing a pair of scissors, popped into his head. ‘Well… that’s… unsettling…’

     Colt looked at him confused for a moment then smiled as it clicked. ‘Ah, Luci,’ he clarified, ‘yeah, she’s… odd.’

     ‘Bat shit crazy, I think, is the technical term,’ Punk said, rubbing the back of his neck.

     ‘She probably just likes you and wanted a little souvenir,’ Colt joked, but took it back after seeing the look of horror on his friend’s face.

     ‘Is it bad?’ Punk asked, rubbing his hands over his now short hair.

     ‘No actually, it looks pretty good,’ Colt said honestly. ‘The rest of you though…’

     ‘What?’ Punk asked, his mood taking a sullen turn.

     ‘Well, you’ve always rocked the hobo look, but let’s just say it’s gone from being quirky to kinda gross.’

     ‘That might have something to do with the fact that I’m an actual hobo now,’ Punk pointed out with a smile.

     ‘The beard could go,’ Colt said bluntly. Punk felt the tangled mass of hair on his chin and he could see Colt’s point.

     ‘You got a razor?’ Punk asked.

     ‘Even better,’ Colt beamed.

 

     Some of the more handy members of the camp had created hot showers using a fire to heat the water. Colt left Punk to clean himself up while he went off to find somebody to wash his clothes. Punk surprisingly enjoyed his warm shower and watched with glee as the mass of dirt ran off his body in little brown rivers. He left the booth feeling refreshed, his skin clean and his many tattoos brighter and more colourful than before.

     Colt returned and provided Punk a rag to dry himself off and a woolen blanket to wrap around him until his clothes dried. He’d also located a small mirror and razor so that Punk could shave.

     ‘What did you think of the shower?’ Colt asked excitedly.

     ‘Really good, actually,’ Punk admitted, tugging the razor through his bushy whiskers. ‘Shame it was so short.’

     ‘We can’t afford to waste too much water,’ Colt pointed out. ‘Rationing – it’s only rational!’

     ‘Ugh, dude, that’s awful,’ Punk cringed.

     Once he’d dried his chin off, he checked himself in the mirror. He looked much more presentable now and had to admit, Luci had done a good job with his hair, even if it wasn’t intentional. He stroked his hand through the short tufts and nodded his approval to his reflection.

     ‘So,’ Colt smiled, ‘you wanna keep admiring yourself in the mirror or are you ready for hot food now?’ Punk’s stomach answered for him as it rumbled loudly, making Colt laugh.

     They made their way to a large area covered by a canopy made of tarpaulin and lined with tables and benches. Colt motioned for Punk to sit while he approached one of the few standing buildings nearby and knocked at the open door. He returned with two plates of steaming hot food. It was nothing fancy; most of the food had come from a can and was accompanied by some thick, doughy bread but it was heaven to Punk. It had been almost two months since he’d had a warm meal and he gulped it down greedily. Colt laughed as he watched his friend practically inhale his food.

     As he tore chunks off his bread like a hyena ripping flesh from carrion, Punk felt a heavy hand pat him on the shoulder. ‘Holy shit,’ he gasped, spitting breadcrumbs as he recognised the man behind him.

     ‘Chick Magnet Punk,’ the man with long hair and beard smiled, taking a seat next to Punk.

     ‘Cliff Compton, you son of a bitch,’ Punk smiled, swallowing the last of his bread and grasping his friend’s hand before they pulled each other into a hug.

     ‘I heard rumours about a new guy in the camp, had no idea it was you,’ he glared at Colt. ‘Thanks for telling me, buddy.’

     Colt shrugged. ‘What can I say? I wanted him all to myself.’

     ‘I can’t believe this,’ Punk shook his head. ‘You made it out too?’

     ‘I was with Colt at the time, if that makes it more believable for you,’ Cliff explained in his slow drawl. ‘We were at a show in Milwaukee. Lights went out in the whole fucking town so we knew something was seriously wrong. By the time we arrived back here, _phoof_ , the whole city was gone.’ Punk nodded sullenly, his cheery mood dissipating.

     They sat in silence for a few minutes until a group of woman walked past and cheerfully said hello to Cliff and Colt.

     ‘You two are popular,’ Punk noted with a knowing smile.

     ‘We’re both officers here,’ Colt explained. ‘It’s our duty to get to know everybody so we can spot anyone new or suspicious.’

     ‘Like you,’ Cliff smirked.

     ‘Officers?’ Punk queries. ‘I got the feeling this was some kind of ‘communist’ society.’

     ‘There’s no perks to the job,’ Colt said. ‘It’s not like we get any extra food or a fancier tent. We all have a role to play and this is ours.’

     ‘So what do you do?’

     ‘Different things,’ Cliff explained. ‘Keeping guard, reporting new guys. Colt will report you in tomorrow-‘ Cliff was suddenly cut off by Colt.

     Punk looked at his friends who glared at each other awkwardly. ‘Report me?’

     ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ Colt forced out a laugh. ‘It’s just protocol. I’ll be taking you so it’s fine.’

     ‘How about you, man?’ Cliff asked, changing the subject quickly. ‘How’d you make it through the Apocalypse alive.’

     ‘Yeah, you haven’t told me yet,’ Colt said, leaning forward, happy for the change in topic.

     ‘Wish it was more exciting,’ Punk sighed. ‘I’ve been stuck up in Canada for the past eleven months.’

     ‘Canada?’ Colt scoffed. ‘How’d you end up there?’

     ‘I was doing a gig in Toronto with a couple other indie guys,’ he explained. ‘By the time I made it to the border, they had closed it off and wouldn’t let anyone through.’

     ‘What the fuck, man,’ Colt exclaimed. ‘That’s not very Canada-like!’

     ‘Well, can you blame them?’ Punk shrugged. ‘An entire country was wiped off the map in less than 24 hours. A country that happened to be their next-door neighbour. You can’t blame them for wanting to protect themselves.’

     ‘Do they know what happened?’ Cliff asked and for the first time, Punk realised he was the only one among them, probably even in the whole camp, who had been beyond the country’s borders in the past year. The only one with news from the outside world. He only wished he had news to give.

     ‘No,’ he sighed. ‘Nobody can get through the borders and those already in the US can’t get a signal out. We don’t know if it was some freak natural disaster or a full-scale attack. Sure, some groups have come out and tried to take responsibility for it – Islamic State, North Korea, but that doesn’t add up. For an attack this huge, it had to be from somewhere bigger, with the power and resources needed to do something like this. But all the usual suspects are strongly denying any involvement.’

     ‘Fuck,’ Colt’s shoulders fell.

     ‘Are they sending aid? Taking in refugees?’ Cliff asked.

     ‘Not in Canada,’ Punk spat. ‘There’s this mass panic about contamination or some shit so they won’t let anybody in or out.’

   ‘So how did you get past the border?’ Cliff queried.

     ‘At first, I went to the US embassy but it dissolved within a few days. No country, no government, no embassy, right? Our passports were no longer valid, so we were all detained. They kept us for months. Yeah, we were looked after but we couldn’t leave the hotel they had us in and we had guards escort us everywhere. They said we had to wait for some kind of visa before we could be sent home.’

     ‘A visa, what kind of visa?’ Colt looked confused.

     ‘There was no fucking visa,’ Punk growled. ‘It was just some government bullshit to make us sit and wait calmly. I asked about it every day and I got the same bullshit excuse every time. After ten fucking months, I knew they weren’t going to help me.’

     ‘So what did you do?’

     ‘I found some guys, some really shady guys. They helped me escape the hotel and smuggled me over the border. I only landed on US soil six weeks ago then made my way here down through Minnesota and Wisconsin.’

     ‘Why did these guys help you?’ Cliff asked.

     ‘I paid them a fucking fortune,’ Punk explained. He lowered his head and his voice became small and dark. ‘At some points, I thought they would just kill me and leave with their money.’

     ‘Fuck, man,’ Cliff mumbled under his breath.

     ‘Well, you’re here now,’ Colt smiled.

     ‘Yeah,’ said Punk, but he didn’t sound enthused.

 

     Punk slept in Colt’s tent that night and although it was cramped, it was warm and he managed to catch a few hours sleep. In the morning, he was woken up by someone shaking his shoulder.

     ‘Wake up, buddy,’ Colt said, ‘we’ve got an appointment.’

     Once he was up and dressed in his freshly cleaned clothes, the pair walked through the camp. It was very early and the base was shrouded in thick darkness, everything still and silent - a stark change from the day before. Punk noticed a change in tone from his friend too as Colt suddenly seemed very tense and held firmly onto Punk’s shoulder.

     They made their way to the far end of the camp where the largest of the buildings was situated. They slowly approached the door to the building, which was guarded by two large set men.

     ‘Colton,’ one of the guards acknowledged Colt as they came closer.

     ‘Higgins. Cortez,’ Colt greeted both men.

     ‘Who’s your friend,’ the first man, Higgins, asked.

     ‘This is my buddy, Phil,’ Colt explained. Punk turned and looked at Colt, confused. He never referred to him as Phil. ‘Joe and his team found him wandering close to the camp and brought him in. I’m here to report him to Bischoff.’

     ‘Alright, in you go.’ The guards parted to allow Colt and Punk to enter the house. Inside, there was only one large room, mainly empty and in an advanced state of decay. The walls looked poised to collapse at any moment despite the sandbags piled high around the edge of the room. A tarp covered the roof in an attempt to keep it watertight but was failing miserably as demonstrated by the bucket collecting water in one of the corners. The floorboards beneath them were swollen and creaked as they made their way further in.

     At the opposite end of the room, a fire roared in a rotting hearth and Punk could see an armchair, it’s fabric gashed, spewing its contents. As they walked closer, he noticed a figure sitting in the chair enjoying the fire. Punk shivered, despite the crackling flames.

     ‘Scott,’ the man greeted emotionlessly. ‘What can I do for you?’

     ‘Mr Bischoff,’ Colt said politely. ‘I’ve come to report a new arrival. He wishes to join us here in New Chicago.’

     The man turned and Punk saw him clearly for the first time. He looked to be in his late 50s, with close-cropped silver hair and a strong jaw, clenched tightly. He seemed anything but happy to meet the new arrival.

     ‘Oh?’ the man said, feigning interest as he turned to Punk. ‘Your name?’

     ‘Punk,’ he replied.

     ‘Uh, his name is Phil Brooks,’ Colt interjected.

     ‘I prefer Punk,’ Punk retorted, eyeing up Colt irritably.

     ‘Well, in New Chicago, we prefer Phil Brooks,’ Bischoff responded, smirking patronisingly. Already, Punk didn’t like this guy.

     ‘He arrived with this,’ Colt said, and Punk’s eyes widened in shock as he saw his friend hand over his pack. His blood began to boil as he watched the older man immediately open it up and rummage inside.

     ‘Hey, that’s my stuff!’ Punk yelled.

     ‘There is no such thing as ‘ _my_ stuff’ in New Chicago, Mr Brooks,’ the older man replied calmly. ‘Only ‘ _our_ stuff’. Everyone in this camp shares everything they have and, now, that includes you too.’

     Punk snorted in annoyance and was about to speak back when Colt again interrupted. ‘Phil is actually an old buddy of mine,’ he explained.

     ‘Is that how he knew about us?’ Bischoff asked.

     ‘I didn’t know about this place,’ Punk scoffed. ‘I only just made my way back here yesterday, hoping to find any of my friends or family alive.’

     ‘And you succeeded, well done,’ the older man cheered, his tone laced with condescension. Punk nibbled his lip ring and tried to remain calm, for Colt’s sake. ‘So why did it take you this long to return to your hometown, Mr Brooks?’

     Punk bit down hard on his lip ring, drawing blood from his bottom lip. ‘You don’t think I tried to get here sooner? You think I don’t give a shit about my family, my friends?’

     ‘Punk was caught up in Canada,’ Colt clarified. ‘They’d closed off the borders.’

     ‘I see,’ Bischoff said, having seemingly lost interest.

     Punk didn’t like this guy or being interrogated like he was some kind of suspect and it showed. He stared daggers at the older man, his face scrunched up menacingly and his fists were balled up so tight, they were shaking. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Colt.

     ‘Chill, dude,’ he whispered. ‘I got this.’

     After taking note of all Punk’s belongings, Bischoff put the pack to the side and eyed the newcomer so intensely that Punk’s heart began to beat rapidly in his chest. He could feel his face heat up as it slowly turned red and his whole body was trembling as he forced his anger down. Had he been in any other situation, this guy would have already lost some of his teeth.

     ‘Let’s be frank, Mr Brooks,’ Bischoff started, ‘this is a communal society where no man is deemed more important than the others. We share all we have and we will never see you starve, but this is not the, erm, ‘lifestyle’ you are used to.’ Punk narrowed his eyes at Bischoff. ‘Yes, I know who you are,’ he said, sinisterly, ‘CM Punk, the darling of the independent wrestling scene. You’re used to being the big dog, adored and loved by millions, but you will find throwing your weight around here will only make your life more uncomfortable.’ Punk merely gave a wry smile back and shook his head in disbelief. ‘I hope you understand that any newcomer who wishes to join us here at New Chicago goes through a rigorous interview and examination first, but I am making an exception for you as a favour to Scott.’

     ‘Gee, thanks,’ Punk replied sarcastically.

     Feeling the tension building between the two, Colt stepped in. ‘Ok, if you are finished with us, Mr Bischoff, we won’t hold you up any longer-‘

     ‘Oh and another thing,’ Bischoff said, ignoring Colt. ‘I couldn’t help but notice the absurd amount of Canadian dollars you have in your pack.’

     ‘I managed to empty what was left of my bank account before it was too late,’ Punk explained. ‘I was the, what did you call me, the ‘big dog’ of the indies for almost a decade so I had a lot to withdraw.’

     ‘You understand that money is simply pretty pieces of worthless paper to us now. It won’t get you far in New Chicago, Mr Brooks,’ Bischoff sniggered and Punk crossed his arms, his jaw set tightly.

     ‘I know that,’ Punk spat, ‘which is why I never actually said I was planning on staying here.’

     Bischoff’s face dropped and he looked at Punk as if he had just sprouted wings and started flying around the room. Even Colt stared at him in bewilderment.

     ‘You would refuse security, food and shelter?’ Bischoff asked, slowly.

     ‘Even you have to admit this camp is not a long term option,’ Punk replied. Bischoff’s pale skin turned a deep red with rage, yet he kept his composure.

     ‘What do you have to support this ‘allegation’, Mr Brooks?’ Bischoff asked, his voice booming around the empty room.

     ‘Have you been outside of this camp? This city?’ Punk asked. ‘Those grey clouds aren’t just over Chicago and Illinois; they’re over the whole god damn country! They’re blocking out the sun so nothing’s growing. The land is dying. There’s nothing here for us anymore.’

     ‘Mr Brooks, we make sure everybody has enough to eat while also preserving our supply. We have raiding parties which target the towns outside of the city that are still standing-‘

     ‘And once those towns have been picked clean, what then? You watch the 200 odd people you have out there starve to death?’

     The colour had drained from Colt’s face as he watched on, frozen and silent.

     ‘And you have a better solution?’ Bischoff challenged Punk. ‘Where do you intend to go with your Canadian dollars? The borders are closed!’

     ‘True, in Canada,’ Punk smirked. ‘I can’t go North, so I’ll head South… to Mexico.’

     ‘And what makes you think it’s any different down there, Mr Brooks?’

     ‘Jesus,’ Punk let out a bitter laugh,’ you really don’t know a fucking thing, do you?’ Bischoff growled like a pit bull threatening to strike. ‘California was obliterated and Mexico turned out to be too close for comfort. Northern Mexico is a wasteland while the rest of the country is in chaos. The government is scrambling to hold things together but law and order has gone. Which means…?’

     ‘Nobody is manning the border,’ Colt finished for Punk while Bischoff turned and scowled at him.

     ‘Exactly,’ Punk said, triumphantly. ‘That’s where I’m going. My Canadian dollars may be useless here, but in South America? They will come in very useful. Might even get me a shiny new passport so’s I can board a ship or flight and start a new life.’ He smiled smugly at Bischoff who was stunned to silence. ‘Oh,’ Punk added, turning towards Colt, ‘and if you, Compton and anybody else wishes to join me...?’

     Bischoff’s face turned a violent shade of purple but instead of exploding, the sides of his mouth curled into a venomous snarl and he let out a poisonous chuckle. Colt and Punk watched as he leaned back in his chair and intertwined his fingers, lean and pale like daggers.

     ‘A splendid plan, Mr Brooks,’ he sneered and Punk tensed, waiting for the catch. ‘You may take as many days as you need to rest after your weary journey here. We will share our food, our water, our shelter. We will even return your pack to you and provide you with enough supplies to see you to the Illinois border.’ He leaned forward like a cobra ready to strike and Punk balled his fists. ‘But you will leave here alone. No citizen of New Chicago will leave with you.’

     ‘That’s not your choice to make!’ Punk yelled.

     ‘Oh, but it is,’ Bischoff smirked. ‘This is _my_ town. Everyone looks to me to make the right decisions to protect this camp and everybody in it and that’s exactly what I intend to do.’

     ‘But staying here would be suicide,’ Punk exclaimed. ‘You’re signing their death warrant!’

     ‘No, Mr Brooks, you are. You really expect these people, many of them children, to follow you into the unknown? Across a country swarming with slavers and worse? What if you run into a raiding party who are not as sympathetic as Joe and his crew? They will slaughter these people without mercy.’

     ‘They will starve if they stay here,’ Punk argued.

     ‘They will starve with you,’ Bischoff retorted. ‘A journey that far? The food supply would run out within days and then what? They have to live hand-to-mouth? You expect children to walk for hours on end with an empty stomach?’

     Punk gritted his teeth. This didn’t seem right, but he couldn’t argue against what he was saying. ‘Colt and Cliff-‘

     ‘- are two of my best officers. They are indispensable and I can’t release them.’

     ‘They’re my friends, you son of a bitch,’ Punk yelled. ‘They deserve to make that decision for themselves.’

     ‘We are finished here, Mr Brooks,’ Bischoff said, dismissing them with a wave.

     Punk roared, rushing forward but Colt blocked him and pushed him back towards to the door. Punk continued to struggle and protest as he was removed from the building. Once they were outside, Punk pushed Colt off of him and stormed away into the camp but Colt ran after him and grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing his friend to face him.

     ‘Listen, I know that-‘ Colt started.

     ‘What the fuck was that?’ Punk yelled, shoving his friend in the chest. ‘That ‘Phil’ shit?’

     ‘It’s just how things are done around here,’ Colt shrugged.

     ‘Why didn’t you have my back?’

     Colt looked stunned. ‘Bischoff runs New Chicago. If he hadn’t taken me and Cliff in, we would have starved to death. I owe him my life.’

     ‘It’s ‘Cliff and I’,’ Punk corrected, making Colt roll his eyes in frustration.

     ‘Yeah, yeah, you’re so fucking smart as always. Listen, Bischoff-‘ Colt started.

     ‘- is a fucking hypocrite,’ Punk shouted. ‘You really think he slums it like the rest of you? What was that saying again? Everybody is equal but some are more equal than others! He makes sure everyone is hungry and cold while he sits at the top, like a fucking king in his castle.’

     ‘He’s right though, you can’t march everybody down to Mexico; it’s too dangerous.’

     ‘What about you and Cliff?’

     Colt lowered his head. ‘We have a responsibility to the people of this camp. We can’t leave them.’

     Punk nodded his head, angrily. ‘Great,’ he spat and started to walk away when Colt grabbed him again.

     ‘Why don’t you just stay here with us?’ he asked.

     ‘Colt, I didn’t even know this place existed,’ Punk stated, ‘I only came back to Chicago to see if anybody I knew had survived and before I knew it, I was brought into this junk heap with my hands tied behind my back.’ Punk saw Colt’s face fall at the insult to the camp he called home. He sighed, placing his hands in his pockets. ‘And I guess it was a good thing,’ he said in a softer tone, ‘I’m glad I got to see you and Cliff one more time. And this place is… great,’ he said looking around, feeling bad that he couldn’t offer anything more complimentary of the run-down camp, ‘but I was never planning on staying here.’ Punk patted Colt on the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry buddy. I gotta go.’

     Colt stood and watched in defeat as his best friend wandered away into the camp, alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos! Have a [bonus artwork](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Evolution-of-Punk-s-hair-801699749) xx


	3. 'I've got your back'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 3 Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-3-cover-802196906)   
>  [Cliff Compton Profile](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Cliff-Compton-Profile-802198483?ga_submit_new=10%3A1560856705)

     Punk ended up staying in New Chicago for a week to recover and though he was loathe to admit it, Bischoff delivered everything he had promised. Punk was well fed and taken care of, even his pack was returned to him, with all of his belongings accounted for (including his Canadian dollars) and stuffed to the brim with added supplies. Punk did not see the camp leader again for the rest of his stay and he was thankful for that - he had a feeling if he ever met that arrogant, stuck-up asshole again, he would sock him in the jaw.

     One face he did encounter again though was Luci and the momentary encounter had left him unsettled. He had looked up one day to find her watching him from an empty window in one of the guardhouses. Knowing she had been spotted, she smiled menacingly at him and waved her hand slowly from side to side. It had reminded Punk of a scene from one of the many horror movies he had watched in the past, the scene with the serial killer taunting his prey before he sliced them open with a machete. He had turned away and tried to ignore her but he became uneasy, wondering how long she had been watching him.

     However, he tried not to think too much about the strange woman and instead focused on his friends. Knowing their time together was limited, Punk spent as much of it as he could with Colt and Cliff before his looming departure. He had forgotten the last time he had laughed so much and felt so at ease, yet the whole experience was bitter sweet. As nice as the community they had helped build was he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread, as if the people here were trapped in a cave, waiting for the oxygen to run out. It pained him to be leaving his friends behind to face whatever fate came their way and he hoped desperately that his theory about the future of New Chicago was wrong.

     When the time came for Punk to leave, only Cliff and Colt waved him off. The emotion hung in the air around them like cigarette smoke, but all three kept their feelings locked in.

     ‘See ya, Compton,’ Punk said, giving his friend a strong hug. ‘Don’t piss anybody off, ok?’

     ‘Speak for yourself,’ Cliff laughed. ‘You’re the one who rubs people up the wrong way. Just do me a favour and keep safe, alright?’

     Punk turned to Colt who looked on the verge of tears but was keeping his emotions in check. ‘Hey, Punkers,’ he smiled sadly. ‘I got you something as a goodbye gift.’ He reached into his back pocket and Punk’s eyes lit up when he produced a Cubs baseball cap. ‘I know you always wore one to remind you of home while you were away working indie shows. I thought, if you had this, you would always remember Chicago as it was,’ Colt sniffed and blinked his eyes hard to force the moisture away, ‘and remember us too.’

     Punk bit down on his lip ring and laughed softly to hide his own emotion. ‘Thanks buddy, this really means a lot.’ He placed the cap on his head and pulled his hood up over it before wrapping his arms tightly around his best friend. ‘Well, I guess this is it.’ All three men nodded silently as Punk waved a final goodbye and headed out of New Chicago soon disappearing among the ruins of his hometown.

 

     Punk pushed on and before long he was leaving the smouldering ruins of Chicago behind him. He decided to follow the expressway south to make things easier but on spying the long, deserted road, the Illinois border felt so very far away. The journey this time felt all the more lonely after the happy few days he had spent with his friends and he had to admit a part of him had kept thinking over the past week that they would change their minds and come with him. He was hurt when they chose to stay behind. While he had enjoyed their company more than anything back at the camp it only amplified the somber feeling of being on his own.

     After walking for most of the day, Punk decided to set up camp for the night. Drifting off the expressway, he found a sheltered spot in a small patch of trees, started a fire and munched on cold beans, straight from the can before snuggling into his sleeping bag. His trusty lead pipe (which had since been returned to him) lay within arm’s reach, should he need it.

     Punk had always been a light sleeper, often struggling with insomnia over the years, and in his solitary travels, it turned out to be a surprisingly useful tool for survival. Tonight was no exception! In the darkest hour before the dawn, Punk became aware of clumsy footsteps ambling their way over to his campsite. In a flash, he slipped out of his sleeping bag and crouched in the shadows, clutching his pipe in his fist. He waited as still and silent as a mouse that had sensed a predator on the wind, his heart thumping when he spied a shadowy figure coming closer. He waited, holding in his breath, until the strange was within reach before bounding from his hiding place.

     ‘Stop! Stop! It’s me!’

     Punk froze, the lead pipe poised in the air mid-swing. ‘Colt?’

     ‘Hey CM Punk, how you doin’?’

 

     Once the two men had calmed down from their near miss, they sat by the fire, Colt tucking into a can of peaches.

     ‘What made you change you mind?’ Punk asked, trying to reawaken the fire by poking it with a stick.

     ‘You were right,’ Colt said, sadly. ‘About Bischoff, about everything. After you left, I forced my way into the food store – I just had to know – and you know what I found? Scraps! The supplies we had would only last another couple of months, tops.’

     ‘I knew it,’ Punk said but there was no triumph in his tone, ‘and Bischoff knew it too.’

     ‘But why lie to us?’ Colt shot out. ‘Why keep us all there is he knew it could lead to us all starving to death? I mean, there’s children in that camp!’

     ‘Power is one of the most addictive drugs,’ Punk noted, his tone solemn. ‘Some men will do anything for another hit.’

     ‘Yeah, well… good thing we’re both straight edge,’ Colt sadly joked, all joy sucked from his chest. ‘As soon as I saw that store I just said ‘fuck it’, grabbed my stuff and got out of there.’

     ‘And Cliff?’

     ‘I asked him to come with me but he refused.’

     ‘Well, I’m glad you came, buddy,’ Punk smiled across to his friend as the fire finally spurted back to life. Punk leaned back, bathing in the warmth of the glow, listening to the sloppy sounds slurping from his best friend as he ate. He laughed softly, feeling a warm surge of happiness flowing through him. ‘How did you find me, by the way?’

     ‘I figured you would take the expressway and I saw your camp from way back. You really need to be more careful.’

     ‘I thought I _was_ being careful,’ Punk said in disbelief.

     Colt stared away at the horizon, hidden by the darkness of the night. ‘It could take us several weeks to reach the Mexican border, maybe even a few months.’

     ‘Yeah, about that,’ Punk started, looking up with a guilty expression on his face.

     ‘What?’ Colt asked suspiciously. ‘You _are_ going to Mexico, right?’

     ‘Yeah, that’s the plan, only…’

     ‘Only what?’ Colt cocked at an eyebrow at his friend who couldn’t look guiltier if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

     ‘We need to take a slight detour first.’

     ‘Detour? To where?’

    ‘Tampa,’ Punk said innocently, looking away as he scratched the back of his neck.

     ‘Tampa, as in Tampa, Florida?’

     ‘No, Tampa, New Jersey. Yes, Tampa, Florida.’

     ‘Why?’

     ‘I have some friends down there. I wanna go check on them.’ Punk still wasn’t looking Colt in the eye, which only prompted the larger man to push his friend harder for answers, even though he had an idea where those answers might lead.

     ‘Like who?’

     ‘Just some guys from the circuits I know.’

     ‘Yeah, what guys?’ Colt asked, smiling from ear to ear as his theory looked to be spot on.

     ‘Just some of the guys I know who got into that developmental gig down there. Like Langston, End-’

     ‘Maybe a certain petite, up-and-coming female wrestler who weighs 90lbs wet?’ He chuckled as he watched his friend’s face flush a deep shade of red. ‘What was her name again? Miss May? Miss June?’

     ‘Miss April,’ Punk corrected quietly, itching the back of his ear.

     ‘Miss April! That’s it,’ Colt grinned. ‘I thought you never saw her again after that show.’

     Punk let out a long sigh and paused before finally revealing the truth. ‘We exchanged numbers.’

     Colt laughed out triumphantly. ‘I knew you had a thing for her. The way you stared at her during her match.’

     ‘I did not stare-‘    

   ‘You were gushing about her throughout the whole thing. “Oh Colt”,’ the larger man put on a dreamy voice while his best friend stared daggers at him, ‘”she’s incredible. Look at the way she moves in the ring. She’s a natural! And she even wiped her feet before she entered the ropes and her butt is so”-‘

     ‘Alright, that’s enough,’ Punk snapped. ‘We’re just friends.’

     ‘For now,’ Colt teased and Punk crinkled his nose. ‘That’s your plan isn’t it? To go running into Tampa on your white steed and save her from the destruction?’

     ‘April can look after herself just fine,’ Punk snorted. ‘I just want to check on her. She was on her way there the night before the Event.’

     ‘How could you even know that-‘ Colt stopped himself and narrowed his eyes at Punk as it all started to make sense. ‘She was at that show with you in Canada?’

     ‘I did it as a favour,’ Punk said then noticed the way Colt looked at him. ‘From one _friend_ to another _friend_!’

     ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Colt nodded finally putting down his can on peaches in order to give his full attention to his companion’s story. ‘So did you two love birds share a hotel room?’

    Punk growled into his hands. ‘We’re just friends, ok! I just want to make sure she’s ok. I did the exact same thing for you and it’s not like we’re an item.’

     ‘Speak for yourself,’ Colt smirked, jokingly.

     ‘Just drop it,’ Punk sighed.

     A silence lingered between the two for a few minutes.

     ‘You know, I heard a rumour that Tampa came out of the Event pretty ok.’

   ‘Really,’ Punk’s head shot up, his hazel eyes wide and shining bright in the fire’s glow.

     ‘Look at your face!’ Colt spluttered as he burst out laughing. ‘You have totally fallen for this chick.’ With a snarl, Punk grabbed his empty can and threw hit as hard as he could, striking Colt brutally on the arm. ‘Ow, dude,’ he whined but nothing could stop his laughing fit.

     ‘I’m starting to change my mind about you tagging along,’ Punk muttered, coldly, as Colt rolled on the floor in hysterics.

 

     The next morning, the two friends packed up their small camp and walked back onto the highway. Punk felt rejuvenated having his friend with him for company and he marched on happily as they remembered old stories from the past.

     ‘You know what I was thinking?’ Colt said. ‘You are really unlucky with those border guys in Canada. Remember that time we got kicked out?’ Colt smiled.

     ‘Ha!’ Punk laughed. ‘We were just kids, we didn’t know you needed a visa to work in a different country.’

     ‘“Go throw out your garbage in your own country”,’ Colt said, mocking the woman at the border’s office and the two burst out laughing. As the merriment died down, Colt began to look around his surroundings. ‘You know, this is really weird.’

     ‘What?’ Punk said, glancing at his friend.

     ‘Being out of Chicago.’

     ‘New or old,’ Punk muttered.

     ‘Both,’ Colt replied. ‘It’s weird to see countryside again.’ He looked around him again, at fields where nothing grew anymore, and sighed. ‘Well, what’s left of the countryside. Is everywhere like this?’

     ‘Pretty much,’ Punk answered, his voice strained. ‘Those clouds are always there,’ he pointed to the dense grey blanket above their heads. ‘Most of the towns I’ve passed are still standing though. Chicago was the first place I’d seen that was completely destroyed.’

     ‘Must’ve been a shock,’ Colt pointed out sadly.

     ‘Seeing anywhere wiped out like that would have shocked me,’ Punk admitted. ‘But seeing my hometown… ‘ He couldn’t finish his sentence. Colt nodded his understanding and they walked on further.

     ‘It’s so quiet,’ Colt noted as they passed the empty shell of a rusted car. ‘Did you come across many people?’

     ‘Not many,’ Punk replied with a shrug, ‘a few travelling parties here and there but they were all really good people.’

    ‘You were lucky. I’ve heard horror stories from those who joined our camp and from our raiding parties.’ He shuddered. ‘Terrible things.’

     Punk placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘We’ll be fine,’ he promised.

     ‘I know,’ Colt smiled sadly. ‘It’s just this is the first time I’ve been out of New Chicago in almost a year. I’m feeling kinda exposed right now.’

     ‘I’m here,’ Punk proclaimed smugly as he pointed his thumb to his chest. ‘You didn’t see it, but I pummelled Joe and his team into the ground back there.’

     ‘Yeah, until you got tased by a girl,’ Colt teased.

     Punk scoffed. ‘Two out of three aint bad.’

 

     ‘I feel like I’m dying,’ Colt gasped as he lay panting on his back at the side of the road.

     ‘You’re fine, you big baby,’ Punk smiled, shaking his head. ‘You’re just a little out of shape.’

     ‘You calling me fat?’ Colt asked hurt, which made Punk laugh. ‘Cause I’m not, I’m beefy. I’m all beef.’

     ‘Sure thing,’ Punk chuckled. Colt sat up and groaned heavily making Punk arch an eyebrow at him. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

     ‘This isn’t good,’ Colt said, his shoulders hunched and his voice solemn. ‘I’m sweating bullets and I feel like I’ve walked a hundred miles, but look, you can still see Chicago in the distance. We’ve barely made any ground.’

     ‘It’s only the first day,’ Punk pointed out.

     ‘I can’t believe how out of breath I am,’ Colt shook his head. ‘I mean, I used to be able to go for over an hour in the ring, my stamina was pretty good. When did I get this unfit?’

     ‘You’ve been cooped up in a small camp for a year!’ Punk reassured his friend as he dropped his pack and sat beside Colt at the roadside. ‘There’s no way you can keep up that level of fitness.’

     ‘You’ve been stuck in a hotel room and you seem fine,’ Colt noted, sulkily.

     ‘Exactly, a hotel… with a gym!’ Punk retorted before taking a long swig from his water bottle. ‘You know me better than anybody. How do you think I felt being trapped in one building for nearly a year with guards constantly following me day and night? I wasn’t even able to go to the bathroom without somebody lurking outside the stall.’

     ‘Fuck, man, I’m surprised you didn’t explode.’ Colt accepted the water bottle from Punk and chugged the cool contents down greedily.

     ‘It was touch-and-go,’ Punk admitted, massaging out the knots in his shoulders, kindly gifted to him by his heavy pack. ‘I had a lot of pent up frustration but I thought I had to keep my cool or I wouldn’t get my visa. I spent whole days in that gym beating up punch bags.’

     ‘If only I’d done the same,’ Colt said, forcing a smile on his face. ‘Then I wouldn’t be so slow.’

     ‘You’ll get better. This isn’t exactly easy, you know, and it’ll take time for you to adapt. I found it really hard when I first started for Chicago. On my first day I had to stop for a break almost every hour.’ Finally, Colt turned to look at him, his face silently thanking his friend for the support as he handed back the almost emptied water bottle. ‘Listen, we’ll take it slow at first and we can stop whenever you want. After a week or so, you’ll be a pro at this.’

     ‘This doesn’t sound like my friend,’ Colt grumbled as he watched Punk stand up with a grunt. ‘Who are you and what have you done with Punk?’

     The tattooed man snorted a laugh, holding his hand out to help Colt to his feet. ‘You’re my best friend,’ he said, ‘and we’ve got each other’s backs. No matter what, I’m never leaving you behind. Got that?’

     ‘Yeah,’ Colt smiled and accepted Punk’s hand. ‘I’ll never leave you behind either.’

     ‘Damn right you won’t. Now,’ Punk shouldered his pack before marching away down the road again, ‘I want to get at least another’s four hour’s worth of walking behind us before we set up camp for the night.’

     Colt let out a long groan before trundling behind Punk with his head down.

 

     Colt managed to last another three hours before he admitted defeat and they decided to call it a day. Although he was proud of his friend for lasting that long, Punk couldn’t help but notice that they hadn’t made much ground and their constant stopping was really slowing them down. He knew Colt was trying his hardest though and kept his patience in order to encourage his friend on.

     As Colt recovered, lying flat on his back on the ground, Punk walked into woodland near the road and set up their camp. Starting a fire, he let it smoulder as he strung a piece of tarp between two trees and placed their sleeping bags underneath. They had heard thunder earlier, a sure chance of rain in the night so he decided to take advantage and put out some containers to catch the rainfall and increase their water supplies.

     Colt eventually recuperated enough to pull himself to the fireplace and they enjoyed a meal of tinned meat and doughy bread, which Colt had stolen from the store before they left. He had also taken a little surprise for Punk.

     ‘A pan?’ Punk asked, arching an eyebrow.

     ‘Yes, a pan, just for you,’ Colt said sarcastically. He filled the small saucepan with water before bringing out a silver tin from his pack and pouring in some dark granules. After the water boiled he poured half of the dark brown liquid into a cup and passed it to Punk, who sniffed it suspiciously. His face lit up instantly.

     ‘No way, is that-‘

     ‘Enjoy your coffee, buddy,’ Colt smiled as he poured himself a cup. Punk sat with his eyes closed and savoured the aroma of his freshly brewed coffee. He sipped it gingerly, relishing the earthy taste on his tongue and the warmth trickling down his throat. Although he tried his hardest to make the drink last, it was finished far too quickly and he felt his mood fall on spying the bottom of the cup.

     ‘That was incredible. Did you bring more-?’ He stopped when he saw Colt with his eyes shut and his body slumping forward. Punk smiled and walked over to his companion. ‘Come on, buddy, you need to get some sleep.’

     ‘Huh? Ok,’ Colt mumbled, half awake as Punk helped him to his feet and stuffed him into his sleeping bag.

    ‘Guess I’ve got first watch tonight,’ Punk sighed to himself.

     As predicted the rain arrived and battered the small camp. Punk gave up trying to protect the fire and sat under the tarp, watching the bullets of water churning up the dirt around them. He pulled his jacket around him and let out a shiver. The days were colder since the sun had been blocked out but the rain and lack of fire made the cold almost unbearable.

     Punk felt his eyelids start to grow heavy and he looked over to Colt, trying to decide whether to wake him to take over so he could get some sleep when his ears caught the sound of something strange through the cacophony of falling rain. The sound of snapping twigs, getting closer and closer.

     ‘Colt,’ Punk hissed, shaking his friend’s shoulder. ‘Colt!’ he shook him harder and he began to stir.

     ‘Whu-? Is it my turn to watch?’ he uttered, still half asleep.

     ‘Shh, someone’s coming,’ Punk whispered, pulling the lead pipe out from his belt. Colt immediately scrambled out of his sleeping bag, suddenly alert.

     ‘Fuck, what do we do?’ he asked, his eyes wide.

     ‘Follow me,’ Punk said and made his way out of their makeshift shelter.

     ‘Are you nuts? Where are you going?’

     ‘To find out who that is,’ Punk said menacingly, brandishing his pipe.

     ‘He might have a weapon. There might be more of them.’

     ‘Then I’d die either way,’ Punk pointed out. The two men froze on hearing a man’s voice yell out close by. The rain and the trees made it echo around them like some ghostly moan. Colt shrank back into the tarp, shaking like a leaf and even Punk was rooted to the spot, his eyes bulging and his fingers trembling.

     ‘Dude, I don’t like this,’ Colt muttered and yelped as the voice sounded again, only nearer this time. Punk turned his face towards the noise.

     ‘It’s coming from over there,’ he uttered, his heart thrashing wildly in his chest. He began to slowly creep towards the voice, when a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness and before he knew it, Punk had rushed forward, swiping his pipe through the air. The figure staggered strangely and Punk missed his mark, the wild swing causing him to lose his balance. He wobbled on his feet and although he remained standing, the delay was enough for the figure as it tackled Punk to the ground, the pipe flying from his grasp. Before the stranger could take advantage, Punk grabbed the figure’s face and he heard a deep scream as he planted a finger in its eye. His hand was swiped aside and gripped tightly at the wrist, held down on the ground. Punk used his other hand to grasp the figure around the throat and he squeezed tightly. He could hear the stranger’s raspy breath as he gasped for air. A blow rocked the side of Punk’s head, stunning his senses and blurring his vision. It took another blow for Punk to release his grip and the figure heaved a huge breath as thunder roared from above.

     Letting out a growl, Punk forced the figure onto his back, successfully straddling his opponent. The other man fought back and managed to roll over so that Punk was on the ground again. Both men wrestled for the upper hand, their clothes becoming caked in mud as the rain screamed around them. Finally, Punk managed to free himself and scrambled away from the intruder. They both stood up, circling one another like caged lions, waiting for the other to attack.

     A shaft of lightning rendered the sky in two and the whole campsite became flooded in bright light. For the first time, Punk saw the figure’s face and he dropped his fists.

     ‘You-‘ Punk said.

     ‘So now you work it out, you stupid-‘ the man fell to the ground as Colt whacked him around the head with his saucepan.

     ‘Colt! What did you do?’ Punk screamed, rushing to the now unconscious man.

     ‘Is that how you repay somebody who just saved your-‘ Colt watched as Punk rolled the man over onto his back and the lightning lit up the sky once more. ‘Oh shit, it’s Cliff!’

 

     Cliff Compton sat under the tarp, shivering in a blanket while holding a damp rag to his eye. ‘I think you fucking blinded me, man,’ he moaned as he pulled the rag away and tried to open it.

     ‘Oh shut up, it was barely in your eye,’ Punk spat as he grabbed Cliff’s hand holding the rag and brought it up to cover his eye again. ‘ Anyway, you’re the one who socked me in the head. Twice!’

     ‘You were gonna choke me to death,’ Cliff protested, waving sarcastically with his free hand. ‘What can I say? Instinct kicked in.’

     ‘It’s good to see you, Cliff,’ Colt smiled from the other end of the tent, watching the warring pair with amusement.

     ‘Wish I could say the same,’ Cliff pouted sulkily. ‘As if Punk wasn’t bad enough, you go and knock me out with a frying pan? Like the fucking Looney Tunes or something?’

     ‘We’ve got each other’s back,’ Colt said simply, smiling to Punk who rolled his eyes but with a grin on his face. ‘Anyway, what’re you doin’ here Cliff?’

     Cliff sighed and lowered the rag from his face. ‘I came to warn you guys. Bischoff has sent a party after you?’

     ‘Bischoff? Why?’ Punk asked, suddenly serious. ‘He said I was allowed to leave.’

     ‘Yeah, you,’ Cliff said, highlighting the point with a raised finger, ‘not Colt.’

     ‘Me?’ Colt asked surprised. ‘Why send out a party just to get me?’

     ‘You leaving really pissed Bischoff off,’ Cliff explained. ‘He’s scared having one of his officers go AWOL will lead to more people leaving New Chicago and wants to make an example of you.’

     ‘Fuck,’ Colt said, a look of worry on his face as he glanced across at Punk, who worked his jaw back and forth, a sign his mind was already racing ahead to their next step.

     ‘Not to mention he really fucking hates you, man,’ Cliff said to Punk. ‘Colt leaving to join you of all people really made him angry.’

     ‘I imagine he won’t be overly thrilled to see you’ve joined us either,’ Punk noted.

     ‘I couldn’t just stand by and watch them hunt you guys down,’ Cliff shrugged as he dumped the rag to the side. ‘As soon as I heard what they were planning, I left the camp and ran after you. Gotta be honest, it was too easy to find you both. I thought you would have been a lot further away by now.’ Without saying a word, Colt got to his feet and stormed out of the tent, leaving a stunned Cliff in his wake. ‘Was it something I said?’

     ‘Yeah,’ Punk said, letting out a frustrated breath through his nose. ‘Who’s coming after us?’

     ‘Your friends, Joe, Hank and Luci,’ Cliff responded, seeing his friend rub his hand down his face with exhaustion. ‘I know you two are beat but we’ll have to leave soon. That party won’t be far behind and they won’t stop for a little bit of rain.’

     ‘Shit!’ Punk cursed.

     ‘The lot of them jumped at the chance to take this bounty. What did I tell you about rubbing people up the wrong way?’

     Punk ignored Cliff’s reproach, his mind too focused on their dilemma to worry about who started what. ‘Joe and Hank, I can take out easy, but Luci…’

     ‘That girl’s all kinds of crazy,’ Cliff agreed before shooting a lecherous grin. ‘Especially in the bedroom.’

     ‘Eww, Cliff,’ Punk scolded, pulling a face.

     ‘Allegedly,’ Cliff added and laughed.

     ‘I’m going to check on Colt,’ Punk said, disgusted. ‘Get ready to leave in five.’

 

     Punk didn’t have to walk far to find Colt, pacing back and forth, soaked from head to toe. ‘You’ll get hypothermia if you stay out here in the rain.’

     ‘I told you I was slowing us down,’ Colt said, irritably, rubbing his hands through his sopping hair.

     ‘And I told you it’s fine,’ Punk said. ‘You’ll pick up in time.’

     ‘But we don’t _have_ time,’ Colt pointed out. ‘You heard Cliff. He found us in what, a day? They could be here any minute.’

     ‘Exactly, so we gotta get going,’ Punk replied. ‘I need a hand taking down the tarp.’

     ‘I’ve been thinking and I’ve decided to stay behind.’

     Punk pinched the bridge of his nose with irritation. ‘Colt, I’m starting to lose my-‘

     ‘I’m just going to let them take me back,’ Colt said, stubbornly. ‘It’s me they want, not you. I’m not gonna get you killed because of me.’

     ‘Well, tough shit ‘cause I’m not letting you,’ Punk said just as stubbornly, as he crossed his arms, setting off an explosive reaction from Colt.

     ‘You’re a god damn nightmare, you know that?’ his best friend yelled, pointing a finger right in Punk’s face.

     ‘Right back at ya,’ Punk shot back, though not rising to the same temper as Colt. ‘Since this morning you’ve done nothing but whine and I think I’ve been pretty patient with you but you’re still feeling sorry for yourself and I’m starting to get pissed off.’

     ‘You don’t understand, I’ve lost everything! My home, my job that I loved, my family-‘

     ‘What the fu-!’ Punk threw his hands in the air. ‘ _I’ve_ lost everything. _Cliff’s_ lost everything. Every fucking person in the entire fucking States has lost everything. You’re not the only one!’

     Colt caught himself and shook his head. ‘You’re right,’ he muttered, feeling ashamed by what he’d said. ‘That was a stupid thing for me to say.’

     ‘Yeah, it was,’ Punk scolded but his tone was softer now. ‘And for you information, you didn’t lose everything. You still have Cliff… and me.’ The side of Colt’s mouth twitched up in a smile as Punk patted him on the shoulder. ‘Technically we shouldn’t even be alive right now, let alone all together, and I won’t let you just give that up.’ Colt nodded, soaking in his friend’s words. ‘So are you gonna help me with the tarp or not?’

     ‘Yeah, I’m coming,’ Colt said and followed Punk back to the camp.

 

     Joe looked around the recently vacated campsite and clenched his jaw, simmering. Hank, on the other hand, released his fury, as he yelled out, kicking the charred logs from the campfire. Luci stood resting against a tree, picking out dirt from her fingernails with her knife as she watched the damp ash scatter through the air.

     ‘You said they would be here,’ Hank shouted, pointing a finger at Joe.

     ‘They should be. They set up camp last night, I figured they would do the same tonight, especially with the storm.’ Joe looked up to the black sky above them while drops of rain splashed onto his face.

     ‘Then why aren’t they here?’ Hank yelled and kicked the fireplace again. ‘You promised me I could have him. You promised me!’

     ‘And you will,’ Joe said calmly, not even looking at his furious companion. ‘We just have to wait a little longer.’

     ‘You know what I think?’ Luci said, continuing to pick her nails. Both men stopped and turned to face her. ‘I reckon somebody tipped them off about us.’

     ‘Yeah but who?’ Hank asked, clearly irritated.

     ‘We’ll just have to find out when we catch up to them, won’t we?’ Luci grinned.

     ‘Right,’ Joe nodded, ‘and standing around here, whining, aint getting us anywhere. You two ready to set off again?’ Hank and Luci nodded enthusiastically. ‘Good, I want those rebels captured before day break.’

 


	4. Horror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 4 Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-4-cover-803270534?ga_submit_new=10%3A1561547204)

     The three friends marched on through the night and into the next morning, Punk and Cliff taking the lead while Colt trundled a few yards behind them with his head bowed, being uncharacteristically quiet.

     ‘What’s up with him?’ Cliff asked as he glanced over his shoulder.

     ‘I really don’t know,’ Punk sighed. ‘I thought at first, he was worn out, but he just seems stuck in this, I don’t know, malaise.’

     ‘You’re doing it again, Mr Book-Smart,’ Cliff grumbled, ‘English, please.’

     ‘He’s depressed,’ Punk explained.

     ‘Colt? Depressed?’ Cliff scoffed. ‘That guy has seen some terrible shit in the past year yet he always has a smile on his face. Hell, he kept the whole of the camp in good spirits.’

     The pair ducked beneath a tangle of leafless branches, disturbing a build-up of the previous night’s rainfall that came hurtling down onto them. The two men barely noticed, already soaked through to the bone.

     ‘You guys were officers, right?’ Punk asked as he tackled a dense mass of undergrowth, punching a hole through the brown foliage with his lead pipe.

     Cliff snorted a laugh. ‘Yeah, well, officers in title but little else. We were the lowest ranking you could get. We were never in Bischoff’s inner circle and certainly had no real authority. I only got the job because Colt recommended me.’

     ‘So why give you the roles then?’

     ‘They wanted Colt,’ Cliff explained.

     ‘Colt?’ Punk paused in his efforts to turn and eye his friend. ‘Why?’

     ‘Because he’s friendly and outgoing,’ Cliff explained. ‘He knew everybody in that camp. Ask him now and he could still reel off everybody’s names, all two hundred odd. He also has a way of lowering people’s guards and they opened up to him. Bischoff exploited that. They told him he was just raising morale among the people but he was actually Bischoff’s eyes and ears in the camp.’

     ‘But he’s not stupid,’ Punk said as he swung his pipe brutally, hearing the last of the blockage give way with a satisfying snap, ‘he would have figured it out.’

     ‘He did towards the end,’ Cliff said, sadly as he followed Punk through the newly opened pathway. ‘About a month ago, there was a group who were discussing leaving New Chicago to journey west. They confided in Colt and he said he would talk to Bischoff on their behalf. Bischoff told him it was fine and he would make preparations for them. A few days later, everybody in that group disappeared. At first, we believed they had just headed west as discussed, but all their belongings, food supplies, everything had just been left in their tents. From that day, Colt knew that something wasn’t right and he became wary of what he told Bischoff.’

     ‘Shit, man,’ Punk sighed. ‘I imagine Bischoff didn’t like that.’

     ‘A week before you arrived, Colt was ordered to find out about any dissention within the camp. When he refused to rat anybody out, Bischoff called every officer into the main house, myself included, and publicly disciplined Colt for not following orders in front of us all.’

     ‘Do you think that’s why he left?’ Punk looked behind him at his best friend shuffling along a short distance away.

     ‘No,’ Cliff said honestly. ‘He felt a real bond with everybody in the camp and he wouldn’t leave them even if the entire place was on fire.’

     ‘That explains the depression,’ Punk concluded, ‘he feels guilty for leaving everybody behind. But why change his mind now?’

     ‘You know, for being book-smart, you’re really not that smart,’ Cliff teased and Punk just glared at him. ‘Cause _you_ showed up alive.’ Punk shot him a confused look. ‘You two have been best friends since you were in your teens. He would walk through burning coals for you. I’ve always had to live with the fact that I’m a third wheel in your bromance.’

     ‘Shut up Cliff,’ Punk said, rolling his eyes.

     ‘He also trusts you with his life,’ Cliff went on. ‘You weren’t the only one to notice something wasn’t right about that place, but, in classic Punk fashion, you were the only one with the balls to challenge the big boss.’

     ‘I’ll never learn,’ Punk smirked.

     ‘I think seeing you stand up to Bischoff like that really rattled him. It gave him the courage to stand up too and leave. He’s scared. He doesn’t know if he made the right choice, turning his back on all those people. But what he does know is you’re here, you believe in this and that’s enough for him.’

     Punk nodded. What Cliff was saying made a lot of sense and he was right. Colt may be going through a lot of guilt and uncertainty right now and if he needed a helping hand, Punk would be the first to offer his.

 

     Eventually, all three men surrendered to exhaustion and collapsed onto the forest floor.

     Punk, being the only one with an ounce of energy left, went off in search of somewhere safe to rest and found a small cave that could fit them all. As Colt and Cliff crawled into the cave, dragging their packs with them, Punk tried to mask all signs of their tracks and covered the cave entrance with foliage to keep it hidden before finally crawling inside. All three men fell onto the floor, their limbs worn out like overcooked spaghetti and every muscle in their bodies screaming out in pain.

     ‘Do you think we lost them?’ Punk gasped out through his exhausted panting.

     ‘No,’ Cliff replied honestly, lying on the ground as if he had just been shot. ‘But we’ve put more distance between us.’

     ‘That’s a start,’ Punk said. His body felt as heavy as lead but his mind was buzzing. He didn’t like stopping like this but there was no way any of them could carry on until they had rested. He looked over to Colt who was bright red and slick with sweat. ‘You ok, buddy?’ Colt could only nod back as he tried to regain his breath.

     ‘Good,’ he smiled. ‘Get some sleep you two. I’ll keep watch.’

     ‘Great! Night!’ Cliff said and almost instantly began to start snoring. Punk rolled his eyes at his friend but noticed Colt pulling himself into a sitting position.

     ‘You not getting some sleep?’ he asked Colt, who shook his head as he sat panting. ‘You’ve walked all night and nearly all morning,’ Punk pointed out.

     ‘And you’ve _ran_ all night and nearly all morning,’ Colt responded. ‘I’m fine. I’m exhausted but not sleepy. My mind’s going a million miles an hour. I’ll take first watch.’

     ‘You sure?’

     ‘Dude, you haven’t slept in over 36 hours. I’ve got this.’

     Punk smiled and nodded at his friend before settling down onto the hard stone floor. He reckoned it would take some time for him to nod off but his drained body betrayed him and he soon fell into a deep sleep.

 

     It was the cold that stirred Punk from his slumber. He opened his heavy eyelids and slowly sat up, his mind foggy and weary. He rubbed his eyes, which had larger bags than normal under them, and rubbed his hand through his short hair before placing his Cubs cap back on. The cave was so dark he couldn’t even make out his companions and since no shafts of light were peeking through the foliage at the entrance of the cavern, Punk realised it was night time.

     ‘Fuck,’ he gasped. ‘How long were we asleep? Colt, you should have woke us!’

     A silence hung in the air.

     ‘Colt?’ Punk asked again. ‘Hey, you better not be asleep too!’

     Getting on his hands and knees, he began to make his way to the other side of the small cave and soon found Colt’s pack, but feeling the surrounding area with his hands, he found to his horror, Colt wasn’t there. Panic rose within him as he scrambled over to Cliff, still lost in a deep sleep.

     ‘Cliff!’ Punk hissed through his teeth and he shook his friend’s shoulder.

     ‘Woah, woah. What the fuck do you want?’

     ‘Colt is gone.’  

     Cliff stared at him through sleepy eyes. ‘What do you mean he’s gone?’ he asked, his mind still foggy. ‘Where would he go?’

     ‘I think I might know,’ Punk gritted his teeth tightly.

 

     Colt stumbled through the woods, surrounded on all sides by shadows. He walked like a zombie, his muscles dully aching and his energy almost spent. He didn’t know where he was and could barely make out his surroundings through the darkness.

     ‘Well, well, well,’ Colt froze on hearing a familiar voice through the gloom, only a few feet away. He looked up and started to make out the bearded figure of Joe walking towards him, his gun hanging limply in his right hand. ‘If only hunting deer were as easy as this.’

     ‘I was looking for you,’ Colt replied, raising his hands in surrender. ‘Where are the others?’

     ‘Around,’ Joe said simply.

     ‘I’m handing myself in. I’ll go back to New Chicago with you.’

     ‘Couldn’t cut it in the open?’ Joe laughed, and it stung Colt to silently agree with him. ‘Where’s your friend Philip?’

     ‘Here’s the deal,’ Colt said, ‘I’ll come willingly but you leave Punk alone.’

     ‘There isn’t a bounty on Philip,’ Joe said and Colt felt a surge of relief. ‘But Hank will be sorely disappointed. He was looking forward to seeing your best buddy again.’

     ‘Well he isn’t here so let’s get going,’ Colt said, walking past Joe, eager to lure them away from his sleeping friends as quickly as he could. He only managed a few paces, however, before a voice rang out behind him, calling his name. Colt looked up to the sky and scrunched his eyes tight. _No, no, no!_

     ‘Colt, what the fuck do you think you’re doing,’ Punk yelled, bursting through the bushes into the small clearing, freezing in place when he spied the bearded man beside Colt.

     ‘There he is,’ Joe grinned, lifting his gun and aiming it right at Punk’s head. ‘Hello again, Philip.’

    ‘Hello Joseph,’ Punk mocked.

     Joe smirked and was about to retort when another figure appeared beside Punk, wiping the smirk from the gunman's face. ‘Clifford Compton,’ he shook his head with disgust, ‘I should have known. You warned them we were coming.’

     Cliff, unfazed by the gun pointed at his chest, took a step towards Joe. ‘Hey, come on, man. We’re friends, remember. Put the gun down.’

     ‘We shared guard duties a couple times,’ Joe corrected, ‘we’re not friends.’ The gun remained pointed at Cliff who took another step closer.

     ‘Look, you’re a smart guy-‘

     ‘Oh really? Thanks for letting me know.’

     ‘Hear me out. You have to realise that the supplies are running out at New Chicago. Bischoff is too pig-headed to admit this and he’s steering everybody there to a slow, painful death.’

     ‘So your solution is to run away like cowards?’ Joe snarled, his grip tightening around the handle.

     ‘Punk spoke to Bischoff and offered anybody to join him if they wished,’ Cliff explained, managing to keep his calm demeanour even while trapped in the weapon’s cross-hairs. ‘Bischoff refused this.’

     ‘Exactly, he gave you orders and you disobeyed them.’

     ‘He took our choices away from us! What’s the point of having a roof over your head if you don’t have any free will?’

     ‘It’s not just about you,’ Joe narrowed his eyes. ‘We’re a community and nobody stands above the rest. When a nail sticks out of the wood, you hammer it back in.’

     ‘That’s the kind of shit he brainwashed us all with,’ Cliff noted but Joe was unmoved.

     ‘You made your selfish choice and now you will have to face the consequences.’

     ‘I’m not coming back to New Chicago with you,’ Cliff stood his ground. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his friends’ worried faces, Punk stood poised, every muscle in his body tense while Colt eyed Joe, his face pale and clammy. Both men afraid to breath in case they spooked the man with his finger on the trigger.

     Joe’s scowl began to curl into a cruel smile and he chuckled. ‘You are so stupid,’ Joe teased, his voice laced with menace. ‘Our orders were to bring Scott here back to New Chicago.’ A paused lingered in the air. ‘They said _nothing_ about you.’

     A shot rang out.

     Punk and Colt both jolted from the shock.

     Cliff fell to the floor.

     Colt’s first reaction was to run to Cliff. Punk’s was to run to Joe.

     ‘You mother-fucker!’ Punk screamed as tackled the gunman to the ground. The weapon fell from Joe’s grasp and Punk took the advantage, smashing his fist into the Joe’s face again and again. The air was filled with his curses as he pummeled the bearded man over and over. His victim eventually blacked out from the brutal beatdown but Punk continued the assault until Joe’s face became unrecognizable, watching as his nose caved in, his eye puffed shut and blood covered him like a red mask.

     Punk’s knuckles burst from the violence of his attack. He was panting heavily, still screaming and cursing: lost in his fury and brutality. Colt’s voice was ringing in his ear – _Cliff! Cliff! Hang in there, buddy! Punk, help me!_

He threw his fist back to unleash another blow when something grabbed the collar of his jacket and he was thrown backwards off of Joe and landed hard on the packed earth. He tried to catch his breath as a heavy body straddled him, pinning him down. His right arm was trapped underneath his attacker but he swung his left and it hit its mark. While his assailant shook off the cobwebs, Punk reached desperately for the lead pipe tucked in his belt when his wrist was engulfed by a strong hand and stopped in its tracks.

     ‘You want your precious pipe, huh?’ Hank growled above him, the blood from his busted lip dripping onto Punk’s cheek. ‘I’ll give it to you.’ Hank pulled the pipe loose from Punk’s belt and viciously smacked the Chicago native on the temple with it. Punk saw stars and felt his vision blur. Two more blows to his left temple and he felt warmth flow down the side of his face and into his ear. He weakly raised his left hand and fumbled around for Hank’s face, trying to find his eyes, but after another blow, his arm fell like a stone.

     The pipe was thrown away and two hands wrapped ruthlessly around Punk’s throat. Punk gasped for breath as Hank pressed his thumbs right into his throat, crushing his windpipe. His left hand latched onto Hank’s, trying feebly to rip his fingers away but to no avail. He was too weak, too beaten. His vision was fading into black.

     He was done for when…

     ‘Let him go,’ a voice ordered above him.

     A woman’s voice.

     The hands released their grip and Punk began to cough. He took in a painful breath, feeling like he had been force-fed acid. As oxygen returned to his lungs, the blackness faded from his vision but the blows from his head earlier, kept his sight blurry. He could make out Hank still straddling him, but now sitting up straight, his whole body tense. It took a while for Punk to make out the knife at Hank’s throat, held so tight against the jugular that it was trickling blood.

     ‘Are you ok, Punky?’

     Punk shook his head to try and regain some of his senses. Looking up again, he saw Luci, her legs wrapped around Hank’s waist, one hand gripping tightly onto his shaved head, the other holding a knife at his throat.

     ‘Why-‘ Punk croaked before his voice gave out.

     ‘Why am I helping you?’ Luci grinned. ‘I’m enjoying this game and I don’t want it to end just yet.’

     ‘Game?’

     ‘I love hunting you.’

     Punk felt his blood chill. Hank was a large set, strong man who had overpowered Punk easily but Luci’s grip on him was vice-like and he could see the genuine terror in Hank’s eyes as she held the knife to his neck. It was clear to Punk that this woman was dangerous, deadly.

     ‘Well?’ she asked and Punk looked at her, confused. ‘As much as I like having you beneath me bleeding like this, I can’t hold Hank here forever. Go!’

     Punk didn’t need to be told twice. He shuffled out from under Hank and ran over to Colt. His throat screeched out in pain but the adrenaline was thumping through his body so strong that he wasn’t even fazed by the gruesome scene before him. Ignoring the pools of red splattered all over Colt and Cliff’s clothing, he heaved Cliff’s limp form up in his arms and yelled for Colt to follow him. The pair ran off through the bushes at high speed and never looked back.


	5. The Silence and the River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 5 Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-5-cover-804067980?ga_submit_new=10%3A1562060769)   
>  [Joe's Gang Profile](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Joe-s-Gang-Character-Profile-804088809?ga_submit_new=10%3A1562078412&ga_type=edit&ga_changes=1%0A9)

     Punk and Colt ran through the thicket of the woods for what seemed like hours, not once stopping or even slowing down. Punk’s whole body was wracked with pain, his head and throat in particular torturing him relentlessly. Colt was running on fumes but the adrenaline was more than making up for it.

     By some miraculous twist of fate, the pair landed back at the cave they had spent the previous night in. The shock of seeing the familiar hovel brought them to a standstill and suddenly their pain and exhaustion hit them like a lightning bolt. Colt fell to his knees, panting wildly while Punk rested against a tree, rasping out wheezy gasps through his injured windpipe. He looked down at Cliff, still clutched in his arms and his breathing stopped.

     ‘Punk?’ Colt asked, sensing something was seriously wrong.

     Punk raised his head to face his best friend, his expression full of pain and his eyes watering. He shook his head slowly.

     ‘No, no, this is not happening,’ Colt yelled, his emotions bursting from. ‘No, no, no, no, no…’

     ‘He’s gone, Colt,’ Punk rasped out. He slumped to the ground, his grip on Cliff unwavering. He had known for a while their friend hadn’t made it. He’d felt the cold sensation creeping against his chest.

     ‘No, you’re wrong,’ Colt screamed, rushing over and pulling Cliff’s body from his friend’s grasp. Punk didn’t put up a fight and watched helplessly as Colt frantically searched for a pulse before performing CPR.

     ‘It’s no use, Colt,’ Punk said, his voice small and cracked.

     ‘I’m not giving up on him!’ Colt yelled before giving Cliff mouth-to-mouth then repeating chest compressions. ‘Come on Cliff, you stupid son of a bitch, come on. You’re not done yet. Come on!’ The tears were flowing freely from his eyes now and complete grief was taking over. ‘ _Fucking come on!’_ The compressions turned violent, Colt thumping his fist into his friend’s chest. ‘Come on! COME ON!’

     A strong arm gripped around his torso and pulled him back, away from Cliff’s body. Another hand grabbed his wrist and pinned it against his side. Colt felt warmth at his back and started to fight against Punk’s grip but the former wrestler held on tightly. Eventually the anger and aggression abandoned Colt and he slumped against Punk’s chest and wept uncontrollably. Punk never loosened his grip on his friend as he clenched his jaw and mourned inwardly for their fallen brother.

 

     They wrapped Cliff up in a sleeping bag and placed his body in the cave, covering the entrance with foliage to hide their friend’s final resting place. While Colt kept vigil at the cave’s entrance with his head bowed, Punk took on the undesirable task of splitting Cliff’s supplies between his and Colt’s packs. It made his physically sick, feeling like a vulture picking at the carcass of his friend but he knew Cliff would have insisted they to do this. Zipping up both packs, he walked over to Colt and placed his hand on his shoulder, supportively.

     ‘I want to do something for him,’ Colt said.

     ‘Ok,’ Punk whispered, his voice still raspy.

     ‘I only know a couple of lines from the Kaddish...’ Colt started and Punk nodded, urging his friend on. They both lowered their heads as Colt said the lines he remembered. Punk listened to the words and although he could not understand them, he could hear their sentiment.

     Once he had finished, Colt picked up a fistful of dirt from the ground and threw it gently onto the foliage at the front of the cave. Punk did the same. Colt let out a shuddering breath as the wind whipped around them both.

     ‘It’s not exactly right but-‘

     ‘You did really good,’ Punk assured Colt.

     ‘Thank you for doing that with me. I know you don’t believe in any of this stuff but-‘

     ‘It seemed right,’ Punk said and they smiled weakly at each other.

    

     They walked on for the rest of the day and most of the night in complete silence. At one point, they came across a shallow river and waded their way down with the current to hide any of their tracks in case they were still being followed. After several miles, they trundled out on the opposite bank, their jeans soaked through.

     Both men were still covered in their late friend’s blood. Neither had the energy or stomach to remove the stains and they served as a constant reminder of their loss. For Punk, it had been the first real danger he had encountered since crossing the border into the States. Even the ambush from Joe’s gang in Chicago had not fazed him in the slightest. It proved to him that their journey ahead would be treacherous and they could no longer allow themselves to be complacent. They had to be more careful, more vigilant and more suspicious.

     He had always been a self-assured, confident man, strong and tenacious and it had served him well his whole life. But a brawl now didn’t just mean a night behind bars; it meant the difference between life and death. If he was to keep Colt and himself alive, he couldn’t just be the cagey punk kid from Chicago; he had to be more. Cunning, stealthy, tactful.

     His pride had been knocked too. He hadn’t had his ass kicked so hard since he was a scrawny teenager in high school and it showed him just how vulnerable he could be. With no law and no order, they were on their own. They had no weapons - his lead pipe had been abandoned as they fled – and they were heavily outnumbered.

     Yet, he vowed to himself that he was never going to lose another friend again. It was his mistakes that let to Cliff’s death; he had grossly underestimated Bischoff and Joe’s raiding party. He had been arrogant and antagonised them to the point where they relished the chance to wipe his life out.

     Never again!

     He turned to look at Colt who walked with his head bowed. It had been almost 24 hours since they had performed their funeral for Cliff and he hadn’t said a single word. He hadn’t even requested a rest even though he was sure to be exhausted. Punk couldn’t even begin to fathom how losing Cliff had affected his best friend.

     ‘You ok, buddy?’ he asked softly. Colt turned to look at Punk briefly but merely nodded. ‘Don’t want to speak just yet, huh? That’s fine, man, just let me know when you’re ready.’

     The two walked on in silence.

 

     After almost a day and a half of non-stop walking, Colt and Punk finally set up camp. They found a small hut, left abandoned by the riverside, clearly an old fishing den. They didn’t light a fire instead opting to rely on their sleeping bags for warmth. Punk took first watch and Colt slept fitfully, waking up with a start several times. Clearly he was having nightmares and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what they were about.

     Eventually Colt became fed up with his dark dreams and took over watch duty. Punk’s insomnia returned with a vengeance and the most he could grab was around forty minutes of light dozing before he too gave up on sleep.

     The two men sat in silence in the dark hut and munched on tinned meat from their packs and the last of their bread. The low mood was thick in the air, as if they were swimming in molasses, and through the tension, Punk could smell the metallic stench of blood. Unable to cope much longer, he volunteered to wash their clothes in the river.

     It had now turned a darker shade of grey outside signaling the start of twilight as Punk made his way to the river. He sat on a large rock by the bank and closed his eyes, listening to the water rush past him. With his lids shut, he could almost pretend that he was in sprawling countryside, lush with green grass, flowering trees and plants. The river was clear and fresh, fish leaping through the ripples. The sky was blue with soft, white clouds and the sun, that incredible sun, was finally beaming on the land, bringing life and vitality.

     He opened his eyes.

     The land was dark. The grass had turned to dirt. The trees were bare, their bark turning grey as they rotted. The river was empty and the sun was gone. Probably forever.

     He sighed sadly and picked up Colt’s blood-soaked T-shirt, dipping it into the water and began to scrub. He watched mesmerised as the red liquid hung in the water like a crimson mist before speeding away with the torrents. It gave him an idea.

     Punk removed his leather jacket, red hoodie and Ramones T-shirt, leaving him shirtless before taking off his worn jeans. He waded into the river, the water tugging at his ankles. Reaching the middle of the stream, he sat with his back against the current and let it run over him. The water was freezing cold and he gasped as it hit him hard but he needed this. He needed to _feel_ something.

   The rapids smashed against his shoulders as if he were being flogged for his mistakes and he screwed his eyes tight, taking all the punishment it gave. The cold was so intense that it stole all of the breath from his lungs, his body shaking wildly as his skin erupted in goose bumps. He gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering.

     He sat, feeling the water wash over him, cleansing him, not just physically but mentally too. It was as if all of his grief and guilt was being forced from his chest and the current took them far, far away. He cupped the water in his hands and splashed his face, washing the dried blood away, sweeping his wet fingers through his hair.

     He was soaked from head to toe but he finally felt clean and rejuvenated.

 

     ‘What happened to you?’ Colt asked Punk as he walked into the hut in only his boxer shorts, dripping water onto the floor. It was the first words Colt had said in two days and Punk smiled widely with relief. His friend appeared to be coming out the other side at last.

     ‘I went for a swim,’ he replied, hanging their wet clothes around the hut to dry out.

     ‘Are you insane,’ Colt exclaimed, ‘the water’s freezing!’

     ‘It was,’ Punk grinned, ‘but I needed it.’ His smiled faded and he looked at Colt as he pulled his sleeping bag around him. ‘How are you feeling?’

     ‘Not good,’ Colt admitted. ‘I can’t stop thinking about Cliff and how I let him down.’

     ‘It wasn’t your fault-‘ Punk started.

     ‘Yes, it was,’ Colt interrupted, ‘and you know it. I should have listened to you back at the campsite. I said I had your back but instead I just put everybody in danger’ He sighed harshly before continuing. ‘From now on, I’m just going to listen to you and do everything you tell me to, ok?’

     ‘Colt, I don’t think that’s a good-‘

     ‘I trust you,’ Colt cut in, fixing Punk with a determined air. ‘I trust you with my life.’

     ‘Ok,’ Punk said, unsurely. ‘If that’s what you want.’

     ‘It is,’ Colt said with conviction. ‘From now on, you’re the leader and I will follow your every order.’

     ‘I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that,’ Punk confessed. ‘My judgement isn’t great either. I mean, look what happened with Bischoff and Joe- ‘

     ‘You were proven right both times,’ Colt pointed out. ‘Bischoff was corrupt and Joe’s party were assholes.’ He smiled confidently at his best friend. ‘I’m behind you one hundred per cent.’

     Punk only nodded back and smiled himself. ‘It’s good to have you back, man.’

     Colt smiled weakly. ‘If it’s ok with you, I’m feeling pretty tired now. Mind if I take a quick nap before we head off again.’

     ‘Sure thing, buddy’ Punk said. He watched as Colt pulled his sleeping bag up around him and turned to face the wall. He was not convinced by his friend’s miraculous recovery but it was a start. When he wanted to really open up, Punk would be ready, but in the meantime, he respected his wishes to give him some space.


	6. The Black Widows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 6 Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-6-cover-805439892)

     Punk and Colt had been back on the road for several days and were inching ever closer to the border. Worried that following the river would make them easy to find, they had left it behind and wandered over the dead fields instead. As they walked on, they passed by the skeletons of cattle scattered among the grounds and hills - a grim reminder that nothing would inhabit the land again.

     ‘Hey, Punk,’ Colt said, lightly hitting his friend in the chest to get his attention. ‘Over there.’ He pointed to black blur in the distance, coming closer.

     ‘Down,’ Punk hissed and the two men ducked behind some large rocks jutting out from the ground. They peeked over the top of the stones and watched as the strange blur drew nearer. It turned out to be a procession of figures draped in black robes, their hoods drawn over their heads, covering their faces. There were seven of the figures in total, accompanied by a small black cart pulled by two horses. While one figure steered the horses from the box of the cart the rest walked on either side.

     ‘Who are they?’ Punk asked, confused by the strange sight before him. He had never seen such a spectacle since crossing the border into the US. It was clear that this group were highly organised unlike the ragged clusters of drifters he had met on his travels so far.

     ‘Widows,’ Colt said, equally as fascinated.

     ‘How do you know that?’ Punk asked his friend.

     ‘They used to come to Chicago from time to time,’ Colt explained. ‘The old one, I mean. They knew about us and would come ask for permission to enter the city.’

     ‘What are they exactly?’

   ‘They’re women from outside the States who locate bodies and return them to their families. It started off as a small group but has become a much bigger organisation since then.’

     ‘A noble cause.’

     ‘Yeah,’ Colt agreed, ‘although they do get paid very well for it.’

     ‘Are they dangerous?’

     ‘They’re armed,’ Colt pointed out. ‘But they only use their weapons when necessary. It’s an unspoken rule that you always allow the Widows to pass in peace, but as you know by now, some people are jerks. They only ever use their weapons in self-defence.’

     ‘Perfect,’ Punk said then stood up, ‘let’s go meet them.’ Colt watched in horror as Punk walked towards the oncoming procession.

     ‘Are you crazy?’ Colt hissed, sticking behind the rocks. Punk nonchalantly turned around.

     ‘Come on. You said yourself they won’t hurt us unless we attack them, which we won’t.’

     ‘I also mentioned they’re armed to the teeth.’

     ‘You told me I’m the leader right, and you would follow all of my orders,’ Punk grinned as his friend groaned.

     ‘Fine,’ Colt grumbled before joining his friend.

     At the opposite end of the field was a small country road that the Widows were making their way down. Colt and Punk stood at the roadside awaiting their arrival.

     ‘You got anything white?’ Punk asked Colt.

     ‘Not really,’ Colt replied, his brows furrowed in confusion.

     ‘Give me your shirt,’ Punk ordered, pointing to Colt’s light grey T-Shirt.

     ‘It’s not white,’ Colt argued.

     ‘Close enough. Give it to me quick, they’re nearly here.’

     ‘Use your own damn shirt!’

     ‘My shirt is black, you idiot. Come on, hurry!’

     Colt finally relented and removed his bomber jacket before stripping off his T-shirt and handing it to Punk. As the Widows came close, Punk waved it in the air, while Colt stood hugging his bare torso with a grumpy scowl on his face. The carriage and figures came to a halt a few feet from the two men and paused for a while. Eventually two hooded individuals approached with automatic rifles cradled in their arms.

     Punk raised his hands and brandished the shirt. ‘We come in peace,’ he smiled at the two Widows.

     ‘I thought it was a _white_ flag that symbolised coming in peace,’ one of the figures said. She had an American accent and her voice was laced with friendly sarcasm, which put the two men at ease.

     ‘It’s all we had,’ Punk shrugged.

     ‘Your friend looks cold,’ the Widow noted. ‘You can give him back his shirt now.’ Punk returned the top to Colt who shoved it on mercifully.

     ‘What did you want from us?’ the other Widow asked with an English accent.

     ‘I’d feel a lot better talking if you two weren’t pointing massive guns at us right now.’ The Widows did not answer. ‘We’re not armed,’ Punk assured them. ‘Look.’ He shrugged off his jacket and hoodie and turned round, raising his shirt slightly to show them he wasn’t hiding any weapons. The Widows still appeared uncertain. ‘You can pat us down if you need more convincing,’ Punk offered.

     The two women looked at each other. ‘That won’t be necessary,’ the American said and they placed their rifles on their backs before pulling back their hoods.

     ‘Woah,’ Colt gaped as the women revealed their faces. The American was around their age with red hair and tanned skin while the English girl was in her early 20s with long, black hair and pale skin. Both were incredibly striking. ‘You can easily pat me down if you really want to,’ Colt grinned.

     ‘Dude,’ Punk hissed, elbowing his friend in the ribs sharply. Since the women had removed their hoods, Punk decided to show the same courtesy and took off his Cubs cap.

     ‘So,’ the red head said, raising her arms in a shrug. ‘The guns are away. What do you want?’

     ‘We’re trying to get to the Illinois border into Kentucky but we ran into a bit of trouble and lost our way. Do you have a map or something that could lead us in the right direction?’

     Instead of answering, the American tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at Punk. ‘You’re injured,’ she said.

     Punk, thrown by the sudden change in conversation, looked back in confusion. ‘What?’

     ‘Your neck is covered in bruises and you have a massive gash on the side of your head.’ She then turned to Colt. ‘And you have blood stains all over your shirt.’

     ‘It’s not my blood,’ Colt said sadly as he eyed the dark red patches on his shirt that refused to wash away despite Punk’s best efforts.

     ‘We were ambushed by a raiding party and our friend was killed,’ Punk explained.

     The American turned her attention back to Punk and was thinking about something, judging from her expression. It was clear to Punk she was decided whether to believe their story.

     ‘Have you cleaned that wound yet?’ she asked Punk.

     ‘Uh, kinda,’ he replied, referring to his bath in the river.

     ‘We have alcohol,’ she said and waved them over to the cart.

     ‘Um, I’m straight edge,’ Punk called and she stopped in her tracks.

     ‘You’re not drinking it, dummy,’ she smirked. ‘Dab it on your wound so it doesn’t get infected.’

     ‘That’s really ok, we just need directions.’

     ‘I insist,’ the American smiled. ‘I’m straight edge too by the way. My name is Amy.’

     ‘Nice to meet you,’ Punk grinned back. ‘Both of you,’ he said, nodding to the English girl.

     ‘I’m Paige,’ the younger girl said. ‘And I’m definitely _not_ straight edge.’

     ‘I’m Punk and this is Colt.’

     ‘Punk and Colt?’ Amy asked with her face scrunched up. ‘What were you guys, strippers or something?’ she teased.

     ‘Pro wrestlers,’ Colt corrected. Amy’s face instantly lit up.

     ‘Awesome!’ she cried. ‘I used to go watch the luchadores in Mexico all the time.’

     ‘I’m afraid we don’t do much flippy shit,’ Colt joked. ‘Although I keep telling Punk he would look much better if he wore one of those masks, you know, one that covers his entire face.’

     ‘Dick,’ Punk smirked.

     ‘Oh, I disagree Colt,’ Amy laughed before turning to Punk. ‘I think he looks just fine as he is.’ She winked at Punk before walking back to the cart. Colt nudged his friend in the ribs teasingly until Punk playfully slapped him on the back of the head and followed Amy.

     ‘So Colt,’ Paige asked, falling in alongside him as they walked towards the cart. ‘Do you enjoy a drink or are you boring like those two?’

     ‘Sorry, I’m boring as well,’ Colt said shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

     ‘Oh well,’ Paige sighed. ‘Amy! Looks like you’re not the odd one out this time!’

     Around the back of the cart, Amy retrieved a small bottle and dabbed some of its contents onto a clean rag. ‘This will sting a bit,’ she warned Punk.

     ‘I’m a big boy, I can handle it,’ he grinned although he did hiss slightly as the rag touched his wound.

     ‘It’s a bad one,’ Amy noted. ‘How did that happen?’

     ‘A huge dude and a lead pipe.’ Amy pulled Punk’s hand up and placed it over the rag so that he could hold it in place. She then pulled out some fresh bandages from their first aid kit. ‘Oh I don’t need that,’ he said waving his hand.

     ‘Do you want to die of infection?’ she asked seriously.

     ‘No,’ Punk replied slowly.

     ‘Do you realise how difficult it is to get antibiotics these days?’

     ‘Fine,’ Punk caved in and once Amy was happy the wound was clean, she wrapped the bandages around his head.

     ‘Ok, so on a scale of 1 to 10, how ridiculous do I look?’ Punk grinned, reaching up to fiddle with the bandage. Amy slapped his hand away.

     ‘You won’t even see it with your hat on,’ she chastised. ‘It’s only for a few days. I’m sure a _big boy_ like you can cope with that.’ Punk snorted a laugh.

     ‘Thank you,’ he said genuinely, placing his cap back on. ‘I really appreciate your help.’

     ‘No problem,’ Amy smiled.

     ‘Now about that map…?’

     ‘I can go one better,’ Amy said and Punk looked intrigued. ‘We’re heading to the southern Illinois border too only we’re going to Missouri. Come with us until then and we’ll point you in the right direction for Kentucky.’

     ‘We’re actually heading to Florida,’ he explained. ‘So point us in the best route to reach there?’

     ‘Deal,’ Amy grinned and reached out her hand, which Punk accepted and shook. ‘It’s always good to have some extra eyes and ears while we’re travelling.’

     ‘It can be really dangerous in the open,’ Punk sighed. ‘We’ve learned that the hard way.’

     ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Amy said, seriously. ‘If you want, I can send some of my Widows to retrieve his body for his family.’

     ‘Thanks for the offer, that’s really kind of you, but we’ve already seen to his body. Besides I don’t even know if any of his family survived the Event.’

     ‘I understand,’ she smiled sympathetically. She could see the pain and hurt in his face even behind the brave façade he was putting on. ‘You miss him.’

     ‘Yeah, but I’m fine’ he said then looked over to his friend who Paige was introducing to the other Widows. ‘It’s Colt I’m worried about.’

 

     Days passed and Punk and Colt grew to know their new travel companions very well, all of whom were selfless and brave; their only desire was to help those in need.

     Amy, the leader of the group, was not the only American among them. Naomi and Cameron had been enjoying a girl’s weekend in Mexico at the time of the Event. As they sat on the beach, they had seen the clouds rapidly approaching from the North and were caught up in the ensuing panic. As the entire resort was evacuated and taken south, they became refugees, struggling to find shelter or food until the Widows took them in. Impressed by their mission, they showed their gratitude by becoming Widows themselves.

     North Carolina native, Charlotte, had been a drifter like Punk and Colt until only a few weeks ago. When she encountered the Widows, she was in a bad way, bleeding profusely and on the verge on collapse. She had been travelling on her own and ran into a rival party while raiding a farm for supplies. They had attacked her and even though she was heavily outnumbered she managed to fight off the assailants but not before she had been stabbed in the shoulder. The Widows saved her life and she chose to join the sisterhood to repay them.

     When Paige had heard about the disaster, she enlisted her friend, Becky, originally from Ireland, to volunteer. At first they had flown to Canada but found them selves stuck with the same issue that had kept Punk in the country for so long. Instead opting to try the border in Mexico they had discovered the Widows and joined their cause.

     The seventh member of the team, Nia, was a large, imposing woman and both men admired her for her incredible strength and endurance. She mainly kept to herself and only spoke when necessary but despite this she was never unfriendly or cold.

     Punk, who had spent his formative surrounded by women, primarily his three sisters, was very comfortable in the Widows’ company and he would share guard duties with each of them in order to get to know them better. Naomi, in particular, intrigued him as she was from Florida and had returned to her home state with the Widows after the Event. He would ask her lots of questions about the condition the state was in, about the people she had met on her travels and if she had been to Tampa.

     ‘We passed close to there once,’ she had told him, laughing as he gave her the third degree. ‘We didn’t see much. It’s said to be heavily guarded so we tend to leave it alone. There’s a lot of rumours about the place but I’m not sure what to believe.’

     Some of the rumours were that the survivors in Tampa were heavily armed cannibals and ambushed passers by to feed their population. Others said that they had found the Garden of Eden and were keeping it secret from the rest of the country. Punk scoffed at both of these rumours but was admittedly disappointed that Naomi didn’t have more information about their destination.

     Of all the Widows, Punk naturally gravitated most towards Amy. They both had a lot in common; she was straight edge, she sported tattoos and she loved wrestling. She also admitted she had wanderlust and considered herself, somewhat, a pirate, to which Punk showed her his tattoo of the Chicago skyline encased in a heart, with cross bones protruding from behind it.

     ‘I’ve always considered myself a pirate too. As a wrestler, I was on the road all the time,’ he explained. ‘I could be at the other end of the country one week, Japan or the UK the next. I was never at home so I got this done to take a piece of it with me all the time.’

     ‘It’s appropriate too; like you wear your heart on your sleeve.’

     Punk looked up at her, grinning. ‘Exactly! You get it!’ Slowly, his face began to fall as he realised his tattoo was now the only piece left of the Chicago he once knew.

     Being with the Widows also proved to be reinvigorating for Colt as well. He appeared to be back to his jovial, positive self although Punk could still see the struggle he was masking. He enjoyed having responsibility again and took his guard duties very seriously. Even though the hours were long and they walked most of the day, he didn’t complain once nor slow anybody down. He spent most of his time with Paige, who had latched onto him as if he were an older brother and they would walk together, normally at the back of the convoy and talk the whole time. Paige, an energetic yet sarcastic girl, was easy to speak to and cracked him up all the time. Despite her cynical nature, she was the joker of the group and he saw how integral this was to keeping morale high.

     Finally, after a long day of walking, the company decided to stop for the night and ate a light meal. Amy gave out everybody’s watch duty and camp was set up. Punk took over watch from Charlotte around midnight and after an hour of sitting in the same position he decided to patrol the surrounding area. Walking through the still, dark night, he became aware of footsteps coming closer towards him. He crouched low in the shadows, his fists raised and waited to pounce as a figure came into his view.

     ‘Relax, it’s me,’ the figure said and Punk stood up on seeing Amy, who was sharing guard duty with him tonight.

     ‘Can’t be too careful,’ he grinned as he walked up to her.

     ‘Are you sure, you won’t take a gun?’ Amy asked, obvious frustration in her voice.

     ‘I wouldn’t even know what to do with one,’ Punk admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

     ‘Just point it at your target, release the safety and pull the trigger,’ she stated.

   ‘Oh sure, it’s easy when you put it like that,’ Punk teased, ‘but by the time I actually hit something, not only will I be dead but I’ll have wasted all your bullets too.’

     ‘So say I’d actually been a dangerous guy with a gun coming to kill everybody tonight, what would you have done? Jumped out and said ‘boo’?’

     Punk snorted a laugh. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I would have tackled you to the ground before you could even see me, kick away your weapon and choke you out. A punch to the throat usually works too.’

     ‘Is that what they taught you in wrestling? You know that stuff’s fake, right?’ She smirked out the side of the mouth, letting Punk know she was only teasing.

     ‘You don’t think I’m tough?’ he asked, smiling too.

     She shrugged. ‘I can’t say just yet. I haven’t seen you go toe-to-toe with Nia.’

     ‘That girl is scary,’ Punk admitted.

     ‘What about me? Do you think I’m tough?’

     ‘You kidding me?’ Punk asked, a grin plastered on his face. ‘You’re a total bad-ass!’

     Amy only grinned in return although Punk could swear he could see a hint of pink in her cheeks. ‘Right, well, I’d best get back to work. For all we know, the entire camp could have been killed while we’re out here flirting.‘

     Punk nodded and began making his way back to his post when suddenly Amy grabbed his hand and spun him around and before he could do anything, she pulled him into a searing kiss. He stood frozen for a while, his hands hanging in the air like they had forgotten what to do. However, he soon reacted and returned the kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around her back and pressing her body into his.

     The kiss was rough but full of passion. Punk couldn’t remember the last time he had been intimate with a woman and he could tell that Amy had been equally deprived. He opened his mouth and she did the same, letting out a guttural growl that turned him on even more. Their tongues began to wrestle for dominance; normally Punk was the one to take control, but Amy was no dainty princess, waiting to be rescued. She was a natural born leader and headstrong and Punk submitted to her will. Eventually they pulled away from each other, Amy biting down on his lip ring and lightly tugging it as they parted. She eyed him with lust and smirked, wiping the dampness from her lips with the pad of her thumb.

     ‘We can’t do this now,’ she said, still smiling like the cat that got the cream.

     ‘Yeah,’ Punk nodded, out of breath.

     ‘I’ll see you around,’ she smiled sweetly before walking back into the shadows. Punk turned back to his post, laughing lightly to himself the whole way.

 

     When Naomi came to take over watch duty, Punk grabbed his pack from the cart before looking for somewhere to catch a couple of hours rest before the morning. The Widows chose to sleep close together for safety and had politely asked Punk and Colt to keep their distance – they had only known the two men for a few days after all.

     Punk found a quiet spot, far away enough from the troop to have some privacy but without being too exposed, and settled down into his sleeping bag. He placed his hands behind his head and stared up at the thick, black clouds above him, lost in his thoughts, before drifting off into a light sleep.

     He was stirred from his slumber by the feeling of a weight on his chest. He blinked his eyes open and could vaguely make out a woman straddling his torso, her face inches away from his face.

     ‘Come to finish what you started, huh?’ Punk grinned, closing his eyes again.

     ‘Something like that.’ That voice… it was not Amy! It was…

     ‘Luci!’ Punk’s eyes shot open and he tried to scramble away but his arms were pinned down between her knees. She was much stronger than she looked.

     ‘Shhh,’ Luci giggled, placing her finger over Punk’s lips. ‘We don’t want to wake everybody up.’

     ‘Where are they?’ Punk hissed.

     ‘Who?’ Luci said, confused.

     ‘You fucking know who!’ Punk spat. ‘Your friends! If you’re here then they won’t be far away.’

     ‘Actually, they’re not here,’ Luci winked. ‘You really did a number on poor Joe; his face was a mess. So I ordered Hank to take him back to New Chicago and said I would keep an eye on you.’

     ‘So this is it, huh? The hunt is over? Well, I really hope you had fun,’ he said wryly.

     ‘I am having fun,’ she smirked.

     Punk shook his head in disbelief. ‘Just do me a favour and make it quick, alright?’ Now Luci looked confused.

     ‘What, you think I’m going to kill you?’ she paused as Punk just glared at her, waiting for her next move. She leaned down so that they were almost nose-to-nose. ‘How can I hurt a single hair on that cute, wittle head?’ she teased, tapping his nose lightly with her finger. ‘No, I’m not going to kill you, but I might have to destroy that red headed slut if she puts her dirty hands on you again.’

     Punk felt her legs loosen their grip on his arms and acted quickly. He propelled himself up and pushed her forcefully off his chest. She landed on her backside and he sprang forward, grabbing her wrists and pinning her to the ground.

     ‘Give me a damn good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now?’ he growled at her.

     ‘You told me you don’t hurt girls,’ Luci argued back.

     ‘You killed Cliff, I’m willing to make an exception.’

     ‘I didn’t kill him,’ she spat back.

     ‘You were there and you did _nothing_!’

     ‘I saved your life!’

     Punk paused for a few moments, his face red with anger and his nostrils flaring. He breathed out heavily and clenched his jaw but didn’t release his grip on Luci.

     ‘I also saved Scott - sorry, ‘Colt’s’ - life too,’ Luci pointed out. ‘And had I been there, who’s to say I wouldn’t have saved Cliff. We were friends.’

     Punk did remember Cliff mentioning Luci and hinted at some kind of physical relationship with her. Could he trust her? Was she telling the truth?

     Eventually he released Luci and sat back across from her. The anger was still very evident in his face but he had calmed down. He watched her like a hawk as she sat up nonchalantly and rubbed feeling back into her wrists.

     ‘Mmm, you’re so strong,’ she giggled.

     ‘What the fuck do you want?’ Punk asked, not in the mood for games.

     ‘Thought you might need this,’ Luci pulled something from the back of her jeans and threw it to Punk. He stared in confusion down at his old lead pipe. ‘You left it behind after your tussle with Hank and since you’re _so_ anti-gun (which is stupid by the way) I figured you’d need something to keep you safe.’

     ‘That all?’ Punk asked, his face still stern.

     ‘Wow, your gratitude really made this all worthwhile,’ Luci mocked, rolling her eyes. ‘So what’s going on between you and that trampy red head?’

     ‘Ok, we’re done here,’ Punk said and went to grab his sleeping bag but Luci stopped him.

     ‘Wait, I do have something to tell you,’ she said, holding her hands up.

     ‘Make it quick.’

     ‘I’ve noticed the trail you guys are travelling – you’re going to Missouri, right?’

     ‘Uh-huh,’ Punk said, growing impatient.

     ‘Be careful when you get near the border. There’s a bunch of guys that patrol that area and ambush any unsuspecting parties. You and Colt will be the lucky ones; they’ll just put a bullet in both of your skulls. Your new lady friends though - they won’t be so fortunate. They’ll be tortured, raped and killed, and not necessarily in that order. As much as I don’t like that tattooed bitch that sucked your face off earlier, I don’t want to see fellow members of the Sisterhood being treated that way.’

     Punk nibbled on his lip ring and nodded his understanding. ‘We’ll keep an eye out. We done?’

     ‘Yeah, we’re done,’ Luci glared back, clearly annoyed with his attitude towards her. ‘See you around, jerk.’ She started to turn and leave when Punk called her name.

     ‘How long have you been following us?’ he asked her, his arms folded.

     ‘I’ve never left you,’ she smirked, which did take Punk aback but he remained poker-faced. ‘I really enjoyed the show you put on in the river.’ And with one last smile, she disappeared into the darkness. Punk felt his cheeks burn a little. He had no idea they had been watched the whole time. It was very unnerving to know that he had never been alone and that she was out there somewhere now, unseen yet seeing everything. He suppressed a shudder and walked towards the camp. Finding Colt, he placed his sleeping bag next to his friend and spent the rest of the night deep in thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update - hubby was getting an op yesterday (he's doing well!)


	7. Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 7 Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-7-cover-806040951?ga_submit_new=10%3A1563380566)

     The next morning, Colt stirred to find his best friend already up and checking through their supplies. He knew from the look of him that he hadn’t slept a wink all night.

     ‘Morning Punkers,’ he said, stretching out the cobwebs.

     ‘Morning,’ Punk replied, briefly looking up from his task. ‘Sleep ok?’

     ‘Yeah, you?’ Colt asked, sneaking a look at his companion.

     ‘Uh-huh,’ Punk nodded absentmindedly, making Colt roll his eyes.

     ‘Come on buddy, you really need to try-‘

     ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Punk cut Colt off. ‘Maybe we should ask the Widows to give us some target practice.’

     Colt was surprised by this sudden change of heart. ‘What, with guns?’

     ‘Yeah,’ Punk finally looked at Colt, who was really taken aback that there wasn’t a snarky comment.

     ‘I thought you didn’t believe in using guns,’ he said. The Widows had offered to show Punk how to use a gun several times but he hadn’t been very interested. He had been anti-gun before the Event and didn’t see why he should change his beliefs now. Colt was the same and had never fired a gun in his life, not even in New Chicago. Weapons had been few and far between in the refuge camp and only raiding parties were allowed the privilege of a gun, Joe being a prime example.

     ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ Punk said simply. ‘We’re heading into unknown territories and it could get dangerous.’

     ‘Most people in the States aren’t as well stocked or as financed as the Widows,’ Colt pointed out. ‘Even those who do have guns ran out of ammunition long ago.’

     ‘I know, but…’ Punk wondered how to phrase this without drawing suspicion. ‘I’ve seen for myself how dangerous the borders can be and I want to be ready for it.’

     ‘You’re acting like you know something bad is coming,’ Colt pointed out and Punk sighed. He could never keep anything away from his friend, even if he tried.

     ‘Someone warned me about the Missouri border. There’s a dangerous group of guys there and if we run into them, it could spell disaster.’

     ‘Who told you this?’ Colt asked, growing suspicious.

     ‘What does it matter?’ Punk asked but he noted the determination on Colt’s face and knew he had to come clean. ‘Luci.’

     ‘Luci?’ Colt’s eyes widened in shock. ‘When did this happen?’

     ‘Last night.’

     Colt shot to his feet. ‘Last night? We need to get out of here. I can’t believe they found us so quickly.’ Colt started frantically rolling up his sleeping bag.

     ‘Relax,’ Punk said, placing a hand on Colt’s arm. ‘Joe and Hank aren’t with her. In fact, I think she’s left their party.’

     ‘And you believe her?’

     ‘She saved our lives, Colt.’

     ‘She saved _your_ life because she’s got this weird crush on you. I don’t mean shit to her, except a nice, fat bounty.’

     ‘She’s been following us since the night Cliff died. If she’d wanted to kill us, she would have.’

     However, these words did not placate Colt, in fact it did the opposite and sent him into a frenzy. ‘She’s been watching us this whole time?’ he yelled, ‘We’ve been stalked by a knife-wielding psycho bitch this whole time?’

     ‘Dude, she can probably hear you right now!’

     Colt suddenly froze and looked around him. ‘Uh, I said I’ve talked about this life-changing, cyclone itch, that I’ve got.’ He looked at Punk and gave him the thumbs up, but his friend just stared back and shook his head.

     ‘That doesn’t even make any sense.’

     ‘So what do we do?’ Colt asked.

     ‘I honestly don’t think she’s here to hurt us,’ Punk replied. ‘She even gave this as a kind of peace offering.’ He removed the pipe from his belt to show Colt. ‘What we do need to worry about is this gang we’re probably gonna march right into any day now.’

     ‘Ok,’ Colt relented. ‘If it’s good enough for you then it’s good enough for me. Same goes for the gun thing.’

     ‘Great,’ Punk nodded solemnly. ‘I’ll speak to Amy then.’ He suddenly let out a long sigh, which Colt picked up on.

     ‘You ok?’ he asked.

     ‘Huh, what?’ Punk looked up with large, guilty eyes and Colt narrowed his eyes knowingly.

     ‘Did anything else happen last night that you want to tell me about?’

     Punk made an exaggerated expression, as if he were thinking. ‘Nnnnnnope!’ It suddenly clicked in Colt’s head and his face slowly turned into a large grin. Punk glared at his friend, knowing that he had figured it out already. ‘What?’ he asked.

     ‘You and Amy?’ Colt said and made a crude gesture with his fingers.

     ‘Drop it,’ Punk warned.

     ‘Man, the ladies really can’t keep their hands off of you, huh?’ Colt teased.

     ‘I said, drop it,’ Punk groaned, standing up.

     ‘No way, man, I want ever gory detail. Who started it? Where did it happen? What did she look like naked? Was she hot?’

     ‘Ew Colt,’ Punk scowled. ‘Nobody was naked and…. You know what, I really don’t want to talk about this.’ He began to walk away but Colt interrupted his steps.

     ‘So she was hot?’ he smirked.

     ‘We kissed, alright?’ Punk yelled at Colt. ‘Nothing else, just kissed. Happy now?’

     ‘No,’ Colt huffed. ‘Kinda disappointed, actually.’

     ‘Well, jeez, I’m sorry I ruined your perverted fantasies,’ Punk rolled his eyes.

     ‘So did it leave on an awkward note?’ Colt asked, eager to hear more.

     ‘No,’ Punk admitted, rubbing the back of his head.

     ‘Then why do you look like a guy about to break up with a girl on her birthday?’

     ‘I don’t know… I mean it was great and all, just…’

     ‘Did you come on too strong?’

     ‘No, she came on to me, actually,’ Punk shot back. ‘It was great, and I like her a lot.’

     ‘But…?’

     ‘Nothing,’ Punk sighed with a snort and tried to walk away again.

     ‘Are you feeling guilty about a certain ‘friend’ in Tampa?’ Colt beamed.

     Punk didn’t even answer; he just walked away.

 

     Once everybody had eaten, they headed out on the road again. Punk kept to himself and didn’t speak to either Colt or Amy, instead choosing to pair up with Nia so that he could enjoy some silence. Colt walked at the back of the party with Paige, as usual, who had noticed his strange demeanour.

     ‘Oh my god, if you don’t tell Punk that you love him, I will,’ Paige teased, nudging Colt in the ribs.

     Colt let out a loud laugh. ‘It’ll be old news to him anyway,’ he mocked back, ‘he already knows how much I love him.’

     ‘Unrequited love, huh?’ she smiled. ‘Tragic. So seriously, why are you staring at him like that?’

     ‘Oh nothing,’ he sighed, ‘I’m just worried about him, is all. I just want him to be happy, but he won’t allow himself to be.’

     ‘What do you mean?’

     ‘He’s set on going to Tampa, but what happens if he doesn’t find what he’s looking for there. Or worse, what if he finds something he doesn’t want to find,’ he sighed and looked at his feet. ‘I don’t want to see him in pain.’

     ‘Fuck, Colt, it’s like you’re speaking in riddles,’ Paige said, shaking her head.

     ‘Never mind,’ Colt mumbled.

     ‘I do know one thing, though,’ Paige said, trying to cheer Colt up. ‘He’s very lucky to have you.’

     ‘He doesn’t believe in luck,’ Colt pointed out.

     ‘I do, and I also kind of believe in fate,’ she said, making Colt look at her with interest. ‘Take me and Becks for instants. We travelled to Canada to help after the Event but the borders were closed, so we had to go to Mexico. If we hadn’t done that, we probably would never have met the Widows. I’m now part of this incredible group of women and we’re helping people, just like I wanted.’

     ‘I wouldn’t consider that fate,’ Colt argued, ‘you would have come across these guys anyway.’

     ‘Ok, Mr Skeptical,’ Paige teased, ‘how about when me and Becks met. She’d only been in London for a few days and was about to board the tube – that’s the subway to you Americans – but it was full and she had to wait for the next one. While she waited, a guy mugged her and took her wallet and phone. I happened to finish my work early and found her crying on the platform. I helped her out and we hit it off straight away.’

     ‘And you think that was fate?’

     ‘Imagine she had got on that first train, or if that guy had targeted someone else, or I hadn’t finished work early, or didn’t even work nearby at all? It’s like something aligned and I met the best friend in the whole world. I’m not exactly a social butterfly; I didn’t have many friends at all. Becky was the same, Irish lass, newly arrived in Britain and completely on her own. It was like something bigger was bringing us together so we wouldn’t be so lonely.’

     ‘That’s a nice way of looking at it,’ Colt admitted.

     ‘What about you and Punk? How did you guys meet?’

     ‘We were at wrestling school together,’ Colt smiled, fondly remembering the early days of their friendship. ‘We were so different, even back then. I was the school jock and played football – that’s American football to you Brits – and he was this scrawny punk rock kid. Man, I remember thinking, god that kid is so dirty, like, seriously, the dirtiest guy I’d ever seen.’ The pair laughed. ‘But somehow, we just hit it off, mainly because we loved wrestling so much.’

     ‘And you wouldn’t chalk that up to fate?’ Paige asked.

     ‘Not really,’ Colt admitted, ‘but I keep thinking about how we found each other after the Event. I honestly thought he was dead. I didn’t know about his gig up in Canada and I was just convinced he was in Chicago at the time. When I got back to the city and saw it destroyed, I knew my friend was gone too. At least I thought I knew. We lived a couple of blocks from each other and both of our homes were nothing but piles of bricks. I dug through the rubble for hours until my fingers bled. Cliff eventually had to pull me away.’

     ‘But he survived,’ Paige pointed out with a smile. ‘And so did you.’

     ‘I think about that a lot,’ Colt sighed sadly. ‘Every day, I just think why me? I’m not a doctor or a soldier. I can’t build anything, I can’t hunt, hell, I can’t even cook. The only thing I can do with my hands is sew ring gear and what use is that?’ He paused for a second and his voice became very low. ‘I still remember every face that lived in New Chicago. I met people who had lost their children, their husbands and wives, kids who had lost their whole families and I kept thinking my life was such a waste. Why should somebody like me come through this alive? I don’t have a wife – I can’t even keep a girlfriend for more than a couple of months – and I don’t have any kids.

     ‘I wish that I could trade my life for Betty’s husband who she’d been with for 50 years, or Taylor’s parents so he wouldn’t be facing all this alone at age 8, or Andy’s sister who had just been cleared of cancer before being crushed by her own house.’ Colt’s voice broke as he remembered all the people he had met back at New Chicago. ‘More than anything, I wish I could trade my life for Cliff’s.’ Paige looked on with sympathy as all of Colt’s guilt came flooding out of him. It was like the gates had opened and he could not close them again. ‘So if you standing here, telling me that this was all a plan, that fate is what kept me, a fucking pro wrestler, alive when millions of others died then why? Why me?’

     ‘You know, there’s a name for what you’re going through,’ Paige said softly. ‘Survivor’s Guilt.’ Colt didn’t look up but he listened carefully. ‘It’s very common to feel guilty that you lived when so many others died and to question why that was. Especially somebody like you who puts everybody before yourself.’

     ‘I just… feel so useless,’ Colt sighed. ‘Even now, with Punk, and with you guys too. I can’t do anything to really help you.’

     ‘You’re wrong!’ Paige said sternly. ‘You have an amazing talent.’ Colt looked up at her. ‘You can make people laugh.’

   Colt snorted loudly. ‘Yeah, thanks Paige, that really made me feel better. Make people laugh? Yeah, that’s the same as stitching a wound or building a shelter.’

     ‘It is,’ Paige insisted. ‘Look around you,’ she motioned to the barren wasteland around them. ‘Everything is dark and grey, the sun has gone and there’s nothing left but death and destruction. Food is in short supply, medicine even more so, but do you know what is really hard to find these days? …Hope.’ Colt stayed silent as he absorbed her words. ‘You have this incredible gift to keep positive in the face of all this misery and it rubs off on people around you. You push through all the depression and bleakness and manage to keep a smile on your face. You bring hope to everybody you meet.’

     ‘I don’t… ‘ Colt stuttered, still not convinced. ‘It’s not…’

     ‘You still remember everybody from New Chicago; their faces, even their names. And I bet they all knew and loved you. Those people were scared and they turned to you to keep their spirits up.’

     ‘Exactly, and I turned my back on them,’ he shot back.

     ‘Maybe that’s where fate stepped in,’ Paige shrugged and Colt looked at her again. ‘One day, out of the blue, your best friend who you thought long dead, suddenly turns up alive and well.’ She looked over to Punk. ‘Maybe New Chicago was a placeholder and you had a more important job. To help the most miserable man who’s ever walked the Earth.’

     Colt smiled sadly. ‘He is a miserable fucker,’ he admitted with a small laugh.

     ‘Maybe this was the end goal all along,’ Paige explained. ‘From meeting in wrestling school, to becoming separated in the Event then finding each other again. Maybe you were put here to stand by your friend and see him through his darkest days. I don’t know why you guys are going to Tampa, but I do know it’s for Punk, and you chose to go with him. To support him and keep him strong.’

     ‘But I don’t even feel strong…’ Colt sighed.

     ‘You’re wrong there too,’ Paige smiled. ‘You’re the strongest guy I’ve ever met, and that includes Punk.’

     Colt nodded, his face becoming determined again. ‘Thank you, Paige,’ he said and wrapped his arm around her shoulder in a hug. ‘I really needed this.’

  

    

     Hank walked into Bischoff’s building, Joe’s weak form draped over his shoulder. They were followed in by the two guards, Higgins and Cortez who looked on with anger at the state of their comrade. Joe’s face was a hideous mess; his eyes were purple and swollen shut, his nose and lips inflamed and splattered with blood while his jaw hung at a strange angle. His face barely looked human at all. Despite the scene of horror before him, Bischoff remained calm.

     ‘Mr Brooks did this to you,’ he said, a statement rather than a question.

     ‘He went crazy, like an animal,’ Hank answered for his friend who couldn’t speak with his broken jaw.

     ‘Tell me what happened,’ Bischoff turned to Hank as Joe was carefully helped to a chair.

     ‘Compton ratted us out,’ Hank growled, ‘he warned Coltman and Brooks about us coming.’

     ‘That’s disappointing but hardly surprising. I hope you dealt with this insubordination.’

     ‘He’s dead,’ Hank confirmed, ‘but the other two got away.’

   ‘I expected better from the three of you-‘

     ‘I really tried, Mr Bischoff. I had my hands around that tattooed motherfucker’s throat and I could see the life being squeezed from him…’ he paused to cool his rage, ‘then Luci betrayed us.’

     ‘To save Mr Brooks,’ Bischoff surmised.

     ‘I think so; she’s been acting weird around him since we brought him in. What she sees in that scumbag is beyond me.’

     Bischoff shrugged. ‘It saddens me but her name has now been added to the list.’

     ‘Let me go back out there, sir,’ Hank pleaded, ‘I promise I will not let you down again.’

     ‘You’ve already let me down,’ Bischoff said, venom lacing his calm voice. Hank caught a breath in his throat and his fingers began to tremble. ‘But you are loyal at least and I need men like you around me. There has been… tension in the camps since Colton and Compton went AWOL.’

     ‘But, what about-?’

     ‘Oh don’t worry about those traitors, I will have them dealt with,’ a maniacal grin smeared across Bischoff’s face. ‘Clearly, I underestimated Mr Brooks but I have learnt from my mistakes and I will not repeat them again. I will respect him, and send our best men after them.’ Hank too began to smile as he realised who Bischoff was referring to. The leader of New Chicago turned to Higgins. ‘Bring in The Shield.’


	8. Ambush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-8-cover-808212275)   
> 

      After a hard day’s walk, the party of Widows and their guests decided to rest for the night. Punk was sent to collect firewood and once he’d gathered a substantial pile, he brought it to the main body of the camp, stopping in his tracks as he spied Amy sitting and feeding the fire she had just lit. He took a deep breath and approached her sheepishly.

     ‘Hey, I just wanna-‘ he started.

     ‘Hi,’ she interrupted, smiling up at him. ‘Sit,’ she ordered, patting the ground next to her.

     ‘The firewood-‘

     ‘Just put it down there,’ she said, watching as he placed the pile down next to the fire before sitting on the ground beside her, crossing his legs. ‘Hat off.’

     ‘Ok,’ he laughed softly. ‘So what’s this all about?’

     ‘I’m checking to see if we can take your bandage off now,’ she explained and he instantly started to smile.

     ‘Thank God,’ he sighed, happily. ‘I’ve been looking like a knock-off Colt Cabana for too long.’

     ‘I heard that,’ Colt warned, appearing from out of nowhere to drop off another pile of firewood. ‘And you wish.’

     Amy carefully removed the bandage and inspected Punk’s head wound. ‘It’s looking good,’ she announced. ‘Best it’s looked in days, actually. No infection or anything so you don’t need these anymore.’ She threw the old bandages into the fire.’

     Punk felt the large cut on his temple now raised over with a crusty scab. ‘Bet I look pretty rugged, huh?’ he teased.

     ‘Mmm nah,’ Amy joked.

     ‘Now you’re just hurting my manhood,’ he said in mock sadness.

     ‘Well, if there’s one thing I never want to hurt, it’s your manhood,’ she played along. ‘I’m sorry.’

     ‘Apology accepted,’ he smiled. All of a sudden, the banter halted and an awkward silence hung in the air. ‘Listen, I actually came over to speak to you about something,’ he said and Amy could tell by his demeanour that it was serious.

     ‘Shoot,’ she said and gave him her full attention.

     ‘I’ve got a tip off about the part of the border we’re heading to,’ he explained. ‘It’s patrolled by a nasty bunch of guys who attack passing parties. They won’t just steal your stuff; they will look to torture and kill all of you.’

     ‘I’ve heard similar rumours myself,’ Amy admitted. ‘It’s why I was so keen to have you and Colt join us. The more people we have, the stronger we are, plus you guys looked like you knew how to fight.’ She gestured to Punk’s head injury and he nodded, understanding now why she had invited them to join them until Missouri despite not even knowing if they were to be trusted.

     ‘We do know how to fight,’ Punk confirmed, ‘but fists are not enough. They may be armed and we need to be more prepared.’

     ‘You want to learn how to use a gun?’ Amy asked, amazed. ‘Really? After I’ve been bugging you for days and days yet you’ve flat out refused?’

     ‘Yeah, will you give us some target practice?’

     ‘Nope.’

     Punk narrowed his eyes in confusion at Amy. He had not been expecting that answer at all.

     ‘I know, I know,’ Amy said, raising her hands up to stop Punk interrupting her. ‘I’ve been the one really pushing this on you but I’ve been thinking. A lot of what you said was right. Why should you change your principles just because the world as we know it has gone?’

     ‘Because it’s dangerous now and it makes no sense to give ourselves a handicap just because I’m stubborn,’ Punk argued back.

     ‘I admire that about you,’ Amy confessed. ‘You have this code that you live by. You’ve never taken drugs, never had even a drop of alcohol or a drag on a cigarette. Just because everything around us has been destroyed doesn’t stop you from being Straight Edge. You’ve also never shot a gun. Do you really think that now, suddenly, you have the will to kill a man?’

     ‘If that man was going to hurt my friends, then yeah,’ Punk said without hesitation. ‘I’ve already lost a brother, I will not lose anybody else.’

     ‘That’s admirable,’ Amy said, softly. ‘But realistically, ten minutes of target practice will barely help. If we came across these guys, you would be as likely to shoot your own foot off than hit one of the enemy.’ Punk looked unconvinced, and even a little stung by this comment. ‘Ok, before you get mad, listen to this. See Charlotte over there?’ She pointed to the athletic blonde who was feeding the horses. ‘She’s our best shot, but that’s because she used to live on a ranch and she went hunting all the time. The rest of the girls? They’d never even held a gun in their lives. It took _weeks_ of training to get them to pop a can off a wall from only a few feet away.’

     Punk understood what she was saying and nodded sadly. ‘I just want to keep you all safe,’ he admitted.

     ‘That’s really noble of you,’ she smiled, ‘but we’re not a bunch of damsels in distress. We can look after ourselves. Just focus on keeping yourself and Colt safe.’ She paused on seeing the look on his face. He was a protector by nature and feeling like he was useless was completely alien to him.

     ‘Ok, here’s one way to use a gun that you’ll pick up easily,’ she said and Punk looked up at her with enthusiasm. ‘See this part of the gun,’ she said, lifting up her rifle, ‘it’s called the butt and it’s the most solid part. Just hold the weapon like this’ - she held the rifle up like a club - ‘and batter the guy to death with it.’

     Punk let out a laugh. ‘And people say _I’m_ an asshole,’ he scoffed.

     ‘Hey, expert knowledge like that may come in useful one day.’ She grinned, happy to see a smile on his face again. They laughed together for a few minutes until she decided to broach a delicate subject. ‘So, are we ever going to talk about what happened last night?’

     Punk let out a sigh and started to nibble on his lip ring, a nervous tick that Amy had picked up on very quickly. ‘It was good,’ he said, simply.

     ‘That it?’ Amy laughed.

     ‘Ok, it was amazing…’ Punk trailed off, his eyes falling to watch his hands fidgeting in his lap.

     ‘What’s her name?’ Amy asked suddenly and Punk’s head shot up to look at her.

     ‘Huh?’ he asked.

     ‘The girl in Tampa,’ Amy said. ‘You never said anything but it’s pretty obvious.’

     ‘Jesus,’ Punk groaned, ‘can everybody in this fucking place read my mind?’ He rubbed his hands over his face and breathed out through his nose. ‘She’s called April,’ he answered before adding quickly, ‘she’s just a friend.’

     ‘But you want it to be more,’ Amy returned and Punk rolled his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of discussion. ‘It’s ok, you’re not betraying her or anything-‘

     ‘Then why do I feel like I am?’ Punk shot back. ‘I really enjoyed last night and I had this stupid, goofy grin on my face the whole time but… it was like she was there, at the back of my mind. Like I’d hurt her or something.’

     ‘Punk, this isn’t serious,’ she said, motioning between the two of them. ‘You’re awesome and I definitely feel a connection between the two of us but I’m married to my job and to the Widows. Once we leave you at the borders, that’s it,’ she shrugged.

     ‘Then why?’ he asked. ‘Why start this if it means nothing?’

     ‘I never said it means nothing,’ Amy clarified. ‘We’re all lonely, Punk, even you. We need that human bond to keep us going, even if it’s only for a few minutes. You’re clearly in love with this girl, April, whether you realise it or not, but wanting to feel close to another human being isn’t a crime. It’s a tool to help us survive.’ She scanned his face and could see that he was still conflicted. ‘Just think about it,’ she sighed as she stood up, ‘if you change your mind, you know where to find me.’

     Punk watched as she walked away. He scrunched up his face and banged his forehead against his fist. ‘Stupid, stupid,’ he muttered to himself.

     ‘Struck out, huh? Colt asked, dropping off more firewood. ‘Don’t worry, buddy.’

     ‘Where the fuck do you keep coming from? Punk yelled.

 

     It was a calm night, no rain, not even a hint of wind. All was still and peaceful yet Punk could not close his eyes. He lay in his sleeping bag, Colt snoring softly a few feet away, and stared into the dark grey abyss above his head. He thought about what Amy had said earlier, that human contact was needed to survive and he had to admit, part of him wanted her so badly. He had felt a connection with her too from the moment they met and it didn’t help that she was incredibly beautiful. Not just on the outside but on the inside too. Had it been a different time and place, he could have seen them together. They would have had a house and a dog; he might have even got a tattoo of her. On the crook of his elbow; two peas in a pod.

     Yet as strong as his urge was for her, there was another voice in his head. An even louder voice. Telling him no. He lifted his right hand and looked at his wrist. He ran his finger over the red ink, still bright and fresh, even after a year.

     He remembered that day like it was yesterday. Waking up in the hotel room to find the note from her, apologising for having to dash out but asking him to come to Tampa that week. The flirty kiss left by her red lipstick on the card and the smell of her perfume on the paper. He had sat, inhaling her scent, feeling true peace for the first time in his life. He killed the hours before his evening flight by finding the nearest tattoo artist and having the imprint of her lips inked onto his wrist. It was meant to be a surprise for her, and a statement.

     The ink hadn’t even dried by the time he saw the news. He remembered those early pictures of destruction and chaos before all feeds cut out and America was plunged into the dark. Panic reigned through the streets and he fought against the current of people swarming out of the hotel to make their way back home to the States. He’d tried to pay for his room, but his card wouldn’t work. He went to the bank and the teller informed him his bank account had depleted considerably. He withdrew everything to his name before it was too late.

     He spent an hour flagging down a taxi and dashed to the airport but all flights to the States had been cancelled indefinitely. They had lost all radio contact with those already in flight. He called her in a panic, knowing she had flown out that day. Her line never connected.

     He had sat, a statue among the flurry of confusion and disorder, staring at the lips on his wrist, still encased in film, his mind numb yet throbbing. He had woken up the happiest he had ever been in his life yet in the same day, he found himself at his lowest ebb.

     It took him forty minutes to snap himself back to reality. He had to go to her. He went to the rental company but they had a waiting list. A group of fans had recognised him and offered him a lift, which he willingly accepted. They took turns, driving all day and all night until they reached the border to find it closed off.

     They were escorted to a hotel. He was furious and put up a fight. He had to reach her; he had to find her and protect her. They stuck him in a room five floors up with an armed guard at the door. The room was trashed within minutes and he refused to apologise. They tried to calm him, told him they were doing everything they could and he wouldn’t be there long.

     He heard the same words every day for eleven months. Each day, he looked at the newest ink on his sleeve and thought of her. Wondering if she had survived the madness and feeling so bitterly distant from her. He was meant to have been with her within a few days and now it was almost a year. He had to see her. He had to feel her tender touch and sweet lips once more. He had to tell her the truth.

 

     A gunshot rang out and the entire camp woke. Colt bolted up and Punk was already on his feet, his lead pipe clenched in his fist.

     ‘What was that?’ Colt snapped, jumping to his feet.

     ‘AMBUSH!’

     The voice sounded like Cameron’s but before they had a chance to think, they were over run by a horde of howling figures streaming out from the darkness around them. Instinct kicked in and the two men thrashed out, stopping everyone who tried to run past to the main camp behind them. The ambushers had been so focused on the group of women huddled around their cart they hadn’t noticed the two wrestlers sleeping in the shadows, which gave Punk and Colt the element of surprise.

     Punk swung his pipe left and right, taking out several assailants while Colt commandeered a baseball bat from one of the invaders and was fending them off effectively. Yet, for every enemy they mowed down, more materialised out of the shadows and they found themselves struggling.

     Punk pulled his arm back, ready to whack another attacker with his pipe when his arm was suddenly yanked back harshly, almost ripping it from his socket. Without even looking he turned sharply and brought a devastating kick into the side of his unseen opponent. The blow barely registered, however and his arm was held firm as Punk stared up at a monstrous man, muscles bulging out from his shoulders and arms. The veins were throbbing on his bald head and his eyes were wild.

     Punk threw his free fist into the man’s mid drift and heard a crunch but it was not from the big guy’s stomach - it was from his own hand. He could hear the monster above him chuckle with a voice like glass rattling around a can.

     ‘Feed me more,’ he jeered, a shower of spit landing squarely on Punk’s cheek. The Chicago native swung again and collided with the behemoth’s cheek yet he still was not fazed. He punched again and again, feeling the skin break on his knuckles but all in vain.

     The giant caught Punk’s left wrist in his massive grip and with incredible strength, lifted Punk off his feet. He struggled, dangling in the air with his arms pinned above him. The monster laughed more, enjoying taunting his prey, but Punk was not done. Using the strength in his arms and core, he swung both feet up and landed a destructive stomp right on the man’s nose. He felt it snap beneath his feet and heard a guttural roar that deafened everyone around him. His wrists were released and he dropped to the floor with a thud, landing badly on his hip.

     Punk winced, knowing that he had a stinger in his left leg, but he had to build on the momentum from his last blow. Punk struck out with his right foot, knocking the monster’s kneecap out of its joint. Another wail rendered the air and the giant buckled, making the ground shake. Fallen and blinded by the pain in his nose, the giant became more dangerous and thumped his fist frantically, aiming for Punk’s dead leg. The Chicago native managed to roll out of the way just in time, and again as another colossal blow nearly took out his spine.

   Barely catching his breath, he felt his numb ankle engulfed by a large hand and without missing a beat, he swiped his good leg up and smacked the monster right on the temple. The blow was brutal and finally rocked the big guy who released his hold on Punk, giving him enough time to try and rub some feeling back into his leg. He hobbled onto his feet, panting heavily while sweat poured down his body in streams. His whole face turned a deep red, the bridge of his nose creased and he screamed out as he rammed his good knee right into the big guy’s face. The monster saw stars and fell back, defeated.

     Punk barely had time to compose himself before another figure hurtled out of the night and tackled him to the ground. He saw a flash of the man raise a club and only had time to protect his head with his arms when a baseball bat came swinging out of nowhere and the attacker fell back, his body limp.

     ‘Come on,’ Colt said urgently, pulling Punk to his feet. He was bleeding profusely from a gash above his eyebrow. ‘We’ve got to join the rest of the camp.’ Colt covered Punk while he limped the few feet to the cart, where the Widows were gathered, their guns raised in every direction. They were all in far better shape than the two men, not a single scratch among them, while the bodies of their enemies were scattered across the ground, some clutching nasty wounds, others not moving at all.

     Despite being only a short distance, Punk’s leg was giving out by the time he reached the cart and he slammed his back against the wood to keep himself standing. His chest heaved as he glanced around him, trying to assess the current situation. They appeared to have reached a stalemate since no more assailants came running out of the shadows, but they could hear a chorus of whistles and taunts all around them, making them aware that there were plenty more and that they were surrounded.

     ‘You ok, Punk?’ Amy said, from directly above him and he looked up to see her standing on the box of the cart. He nodded back, breathing heavily as he held his pipe out in front of him, his grip so tight his knuckles were white. Above him, he could hear Amy preparing everybody for the onslaught. ‘Becky, Naomi, guard the horses. Charlotte, you, Paige, Nia and Colt protect that side of the cart. Cameron and Punk, you’re with me on this side. Keep them away from the cart, whatever you do. If they get a hold of our weapons, we’re done for. Understood?’

     The Widows replied in unison to confirm her orders, Colt’s voice joining the chorus. Punk, however, had his attention focused on their surroundings, listening with unease as the jeers around them stopped and a lone figure walked out from the brown foliage directly opposite him. He was several inches taller than Punk, wearing a long leather trench coat and his hair closely cropped. He smiled, displaying two rows of white teeth chiseled into sharp fangs.

     ‘Orton,’ Amy hissed.

     ‘Wow,’ Orton whistled though his mutilated teeth. ‘Just look at all you fine ladies.’ He chuckled darkly under his breath. ‘I always enjoy a feisty woman squirming beneath me.’

     Punk felt his blood begin to boil and took a step forward. Amy rested a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Orton seemed to notice Punk for the first time and his expression changed to one of disgust.

     ‘Didn’t know the Widows were taking in strays now,’ he shot at the Straight Edge Saviour. ‘Don’t have much use for mutts. Guess I’ll just have to put you down.’ He removed his trench coat, revealing long, strong arms, laced with black tattoos that snaked up to his shoulders.

     ‘I’d like to see you try,’ Punk started towards Orton again.

     ‘Punk!’ Amy yelled and he stopped in his tracks once more.

     ‘Listen to your master,’ Orton hissed. ‘I don’t have time for pups, anyway.’ He turned his attention back to Amy. ‘I’m more interested in getting to know _you_ better though.’

     The tension hung in the air as all members of the troupe held their breath, waiting for the inevitable storm to break.

     ‘VIPERS!!!’ Orton screamed into the night around him. ‘ATTACK!’


	9. The Apex Predator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 9 Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-9-cover-807725010)  
> [Black Widows Profile](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/The-Black-Widows-Character-Profile-807725880?ga_submit_new=10%3A1564601133)
> 
>  
> 
> Note: I've fallen a little behind on the accompanying artwork as I was away most of last week. I'm currently working on Chapter 8's cover as well as a character profile for Randy Orton. I'll post them up as soon as I can, promise! x
> 
> Update: Widows profile is up now! ^^^^^^^

     On the other side of the cart, unable to hear the exchange between Punk and Orton, Colt stood, poised for the next wave of attack.

     ‘Get ready,’ Charlotte ordered from above him. ‘Paige and I will try to mow down as many as we can. Colt, you and Nia keep them away from the cart.’

     ‘Right,’ all three responded, and waited with bated breath.

     Orton’s roar tore through the still air followed by a blood-curdling howl as a mass of figures came rushing out of the shadows towards them. Almost instantly, several attackers fell - victims of Paige and Charlotte’s gunfire. Colt ran out and swung his baseball bat, smashing one in the stomach before ducking down low and swiped another man’s feet out from underneath him, caving in his knee to keep him down. The sound of battle cries and panicked horses filled the air around him and everything turned into a blur. He could see Nia pounding past him like a tank, mowing down three men with her outstretched arms.

     ‘Nice clothesline,’ Colt muttered to himself, before taking down a man wielding a machete. His face was streaked with sweat and his chest was about to burst yet the onslaught of bodies never slowed down. He blocked a swipe from a club wrapped in barbed wire with his bat and pushed back against the Viper, who lost his balance. In the confusion, he burst forward and smashed his elbow down onto the man’s mouth and the Viper fell, along with several loose teeth.

     ‘BOOM!’ Colt yelled, unable to hide the smile on his face. A blow on the back of his head knocked him back to reality and he fell to his knees. Sensing a presence behind him, he kicked out, hitting meat and the man dropped, clutching his groin. Colt faced his foe, both men on their knees and landed a fierce punch on his face. His opponent instantly retaliated with one of their own.

     ‘Fuck,’ Colt swore and brought his fist to the man’s face again. They exchanged several more blows before Colt decided he’d had enough and as the stranger pulled his fist back for another strike, Colt leapt on top of him and grabbed his collar, pummelling the Viper again and again until he submitted and fell limp beneath him. Colt could barely breath now yet the melee was still in full throttle around him. He gritted his teeth, grabbed his bat and forced himself to his feet once more.

     Nia was overrun with opponents and she let out a scream of pain as a knife was planted into her side. Colt ran to her aid, swinging his bat with purpose, knocking one to the ground while the others fled. Nia grimaced as she felt the knife in her side, blood dripping from her mouth.

     ‘I’ve got it,’ Colt said but she stopped him.

     ‘Leave it,’ she yelled, ‘it will do more damage if you remove it.’

     A scream ripped through the night. The colour drained from Colt’s face.

     ‘PAIGE!’ he heard Becky shriek. He turned in time to see Paige being dragged off the cart and into the shadows by three men.

     Becky started to run after the group, murder in her eyes, but stopped in her tracks when Charlotte shouted her name from atop the cart. ‘BECKY! DON’T LEAVE YOUR POST! COLT!’ She turned to the former wrestler. ‘Go get her back!’

     He wasted no time in replying before he ran off in hot pursuit. He battled against the horde of human bodies in his way, fighting through the mass like a ship breaking through ice. The crowd dwindled and he sprinted after the kidnappers, his fury and adrenaline pushing his exhausted body along like a bullet. He soon caught up to the group and letting out an ear-spitting yell, he brought the top of his bat square into one of the men’s ribs. The Viper dropped his grip on Paige and, clutching his broken ribs, jumped at Colt, a machete in his hand. Colt blocked the first swing with his bat, the steel biting down into the wood. The Viper yanked his weapon free and swiped again, once more Colt was able to block. His luck ran out on the third attack and the steel found its mark. Colt wailed out in agony as the machete slashed into his upper arm and the bat fell from his grasp.

     The man kicked the bat away and raised his machete for another blow, but Colt was not finished yet. He aimed a powerful punch, which collided with the man’s already damaged ribs and his arms dropped. Colt made a grab for the machete and both men wrestled for dominance, proving to be equally as strong. However, Colt knew how to play dirty and rammed his elbow back into the man’s face several times until he was able to prise the Viper’s fingers off and hurled the huge knife into the shadows. Two skull-bursting punches later and the former wrestler stood in victory.

     He turned to face the other two men but smiled with amazement instead. In front of him stood Paige, red splashes across her pale face and Colt’s discarded baseball bat in her hand, while her kidnappers lay in broken heaps at her feet.

     ‘Thanks Colt,’ she smiled wickedly. ‘You saved me.’

     ‘You don’t need saving,’ he grinned, looking at the state of her victims. ‘I just evened the odds.’

     ‘Still,’ she smiled and planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘I owe you one.’

     ‘Cool,’ Colt said, stunned.

     ‘Let’s go and help the others,’ Paige said returning Colt’s bat before retrieving her rifle.

 

     Punk was fighting as hard as he could but his leg was proving troublesome. He used the cart to keep himself upright while he fended off the waves of Vipers. He was sporting a bleeding lip and several gashes on his arm but ignored the pain and fought on. As he dispatched another ambusher, he heard a gasp of pain above him.

     ‘AMY?’ he called out in a panic as he saw the redhead clutch her shoulder. ‘Amy, are you-‘

     ‘I’m fine,’ she yelled back as she inspected the tear across her upper arm. ‘Jackass threw a knife at me. Think it was meant to hit my neck.’ She stopped and snapped her head towards the back of the cart, spying two or three Vipers slithering closer. ‘Shit! They’re trying to get into our arsenal.’ She raised her rifle but the men snaked out of her eyesight. ‘Damn it! They’re out of my range.’

     ‘I’m on it,’ Punk told her and hobbled his way towards the back of the cart. He cursed the stinger in his leg as it threatened to buckle beneath him, knowing it may take several hours for the numbness to clear. ‘This is the worst possible timing,’ he gnashed out between his teeth.

   He stole a glance around the side of the wooden horsebox and found two men trying to force the back of the cart open. Stealing a quick breath, Punk charged the pair, wrapping his arm around one of the Viper’s neck before swiping his pipe at the other. His blow missed as the Viper jumped back but Punk used the separation to focus on the man in his arms, ramming the pipe into the first man’s mid-drift and winding him. The Viper slumped to the ground, out of commission as Punk faced down the remaining opponent.

     The Viper smiled wickedly and charged for the Chicago native. Punk, unable to move quickly enough on his bad leg, braced himself for the collision and the pair went hurtling into the mud together. The Viper scrambled to his knees first and managed to smash his fist into Punk’s eye socket once before the former wrestler shielded his face with his arms. Punk let out a loud curse as he felt his eye swelling shut from the blow. The punches rained down on him, none penetrating his defenses. Punk persevered through the barrage, waiting patiently, waiting until…

     NOW! The Viper was tiring out, slowing down. There was a pause, ever so slight, and Punk attacked, grabbing the skinnier man’s shirt and yanking him down, Punk bringing his forehead up to meet the Viper’s nose. A satisfying crack, a splash of blood and a howl of pain. The Viper fell, defeated.

     Punk lay on his back, his chest heaving as he tried to force the air back into his lungs. Around him the fight was still raging but the Viper’s number had greatly depleted. The end must surely be in sight soon. He weakly pulled himself up onto his good knee, willing himself to go one more round when he was suddenly blindsided by a forceful punch to his cheek. He fell back down hard, his pipe bouncing from his grasp.

     ‘Get to your feet, pup,’ he could hear Orton’s mocking voice directly above him. ‘Show me how tough you really are.’

     Punk barely made it onto his elbows before Orton grabbed the bottom of Punk’s hoodie and yanked it over his head. He bundled the fabric up tight in his hand, engulfing the Chicago native’s head, effectively blinding him. He jerked back powerfully, forcing Punk away from the cart. Punk’s bad leg betrayed him again and he stumbled, losing all sense of which way was upright.

     ‘Gah!’ he yelled as a knee collided with his midsection while Orton’s fist rained down on his ribs. He tried to fight back but Orton kept dragging him, and being so heavily handicapped, he could barely register where the ground was, let alone his opponent. In order to have any chance of fighting back, he had to get away from Orton.

     He flailed his arm around and finding denim, he clutched it tightly and pulled himself closer to what he guessed was Orton’s leg. He dug his heels into the ground and pushed suddenly into Orton’s stomach, causing the head Viper to stumble back and fall into the dirt. Orton made a costly error by keeping his grip on Punk’s hoodie as he fell, allowing his opponent to slip free, leaving Punk in his T-shirt. Finally released from Orton’s grasp, Punk stood tall, his fists raised. He could see Orton grin with wicked intent as he got to his feet and faced the former wrestler. There were no more pleasantries, no more taunts. The time for words was over, now was the time for action.

     Orton pounced first, and bracing himself on his good leg, Punk met the attack. The two locked up, each gripping the other’s shoulders like bulls clashing horns. Orton tried to force Punk back onto his bad leg but found the Chicagoan was stronger than he had initially thought. After several unsuccessful tussles, the two were at a stalemate. In an attempt to buckle his opponent, Orton kicked out, aiming for Punk’s leg. Punk dodged each attack, skipping sideways to avoid the blows, but knew it would only be a matter of time. If he fell again, Orton would make him pay for it.

     Punk suddenly slackened his grip on the head Viper and, being caught completely by surprise, Orton fell forward. Using Orton’s momentum against him, Punk smashed his forehead into his opponent’s nose just like he had done with the other Viper. Unlike his follower, however, the lead Viper was not out for the count. Orton’s head snapped backwards and he staggered like a drunk, blood streaming down his face from his busted nose. Punk wasted no time and released a barrage of brutal elbow shots to Orton’s weakened face. Despite the assault, the taller man remained standing so Punk brought out his arsenal of vicious kicks, striking his opponent’s knees to try and force him to the ground.

     Frustration set in as the stubborn Viper refused to drop and Punk let out a guttural growl. He rammed down on Orton’s shoulders, sending the man crashing into a fierce knee shot. The hit landed square on the man’s shattered nose and he plunged to the ground at last. Punk stood over him, breathing heavily and waited for a response from the leader of the Vipers.

     He heard a low rumble like oncoming thunder which turned into a sickly gurgling sound and he realised the Viper was laughing. Orton’s leg kicked out like a whip and finally found its target. Punk’s bad leg buckled and he crumbled to the floor. Punk screwed his eyes shut, his heavy breathing whistling out through his clenched teeth as he tried to block out the pain in his leg. The Viper’s laugh vibrated in the air around him.

    

     From atop the cart, Amy wiped her blood stained hand on her shirt before firing her gun once more.

     ‘Will it ever stop?’ Cameron yelled at her, desperation evident in her voice.

     ‘It will, it has to,’ Amy replied. ‘We have to stay strong.’

     She scanned the battlefield, seeing Colt and Paige return to the fray with relief and quickly checked for her team. Charlotte and Cameron were with her on the cart, she could see Nia taking out Vipers to her right and Naomi and Becky protecting the horses to the front but when she turned her sight to the back of the cart, she could see no sign of Punk. She started to panic. He had been there a moment ago, fending off the attacks but as she scanned every face she saw only strangers. It was then that she spotted his lead pipe, discarded in the dirt.

     ‘Where’s Punk?’ she asked Cameron, failing to mask the fear in her voice.

     ‘I can’t see him,’ her fellow Widow returned, taking out another enemy.

     Amy stood up and searched frantically for him. There was so much chaos she could barely make anything out. The whole scene was a wild blur of hysteria.

 

     Punk coughed and spat up a pocket of blood. He tried to force himself to his knees but his arms were as limp as overcooked spaghetti. He could still hear the Viper’s venomous laugh in his ears.

     ‘I have to admit, pup, you put up a better fight that most,’ Orton sneered, as he crawled on all fours over to Punk’s fallen body. ‘Nobody ever puts me down, and to do it with an injury? I have to admit, that’s impressive.’ Punk could hear Orton drawing closer and desperately tried to shuffle away from the head Viper. ‘I do wish I’d faced you in your prime.’

     Punk’s leg was seething in agony as he dragged the injured limb like a hunk of dead wood. He quickly gazed around him, seeing no sign of the cart or his companions. Where had Orton taken him?

     Orton sniffed and wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand, smiling wickedly. With an incredible show of stamina, he pulled himself to his feet. ‘You know, it seems such a shame to kill you. A great fighter like yourself? I could use someone like you. What’s your name, pup?’

     ‘Fuck you,’ Punk spat back, as he heaved himself away another inch, desperately hoping he was heading the right way.

     ‘Hehehe,’ the head Viper chuckled, his sharpened teeth glinting through the shadows. ‘I’ve met a lot of people with that name. Strange, huh?’ Punk did not find the joke amusing. His shoulder blades was rapidly rising and falling as Orton slowly walked closer to him with every step. ‘You’re in luck, pup. A few spaces have opened up after tonight. How would you like to join my Vipers? I promise you food, adventure, blood and first pick of any women we procure along the way.’

     ‘GO TO HELL!’ Punk yelled back. Orton took one more step and paused, smirking down at the Chicago native. He struck like a snake, stomping his boot straight down onto the back of Punk’s injured knee. Punk let out a cry of pain and Orton watched his victim’s agony with gleeful malice. Keeping Punk’s leg pinned beneath his foot, he crouched down over his fallen opponent’s body, resting on his laurels with his arms nonchalantly placed on his thighs. He closed his eyes and smiled as he listened to Punk’s stuttered breaths hissing through his teeth. He enjoyed his victim’s discomfort as if it were a beautiful symphony.

     ‘Such a shame,’ he lamented in a chilling voice. He slowly reached down and grabbed a fistful of Punk’s damp, sweaty hair. Working on reflex alone, the Second City Saint tried to bat his attacker’s arm away but he was pinned down on his front and couldn’t reach far enough behind him. The head Viper forcefully pulled Punk’s head back until he was arching his spine at a grueling angle. Punk felt a throbbing pressure at the base of his spine but was completely powerless to fight back.

     Orton leaned forward and Punk could feel the warmth of the Viper’s breath against his ear. He suppressed a shiver as the strong stench of blood flooded his nostrils.

     ‘Such a shame,’ Orton hissed softly. ‘You would have been a great Viper. A legend, even. People would have trembled in fear at your feet.’ Orton paused as he licked his lips, tasting his own blood on his tongue. ‘Did you know people tell stories about me?’ he asked, the smell of blood growing stronger. ‘They even have this… cute, little nickname for me…’ Punk flinched as he felt the Viper’s fingers grip the collar of his T-shirt. ‘The Apex Predator.’ He sharply tugged Punk’s collar, tearing the fabric and exposing the bare muscle between his neck and shoulder. ‘You wanna know why?’

     With a rabid snarl that was more animal than human, Orton sank his teeth into Punk’s shoulder.

    

     A horrifying shriek rendered the air and froze Amy’s blood.

     ‘What the hell was that?’ Cameron turned to her, her eyes wide with horror. ‘Was that an animal?’

     ‘No, I think it was… human,’ Amy replied and pointed her rifle in the direction of the noise, searching through her lens.

     ‘It must be really hurt,’ Cameron said, clearly shaken.

     Amy squinted as she scanned the shadows and finally found the source of the noise in her cross hairs. ‘It’s Punk!’ she cried in horror.

     ‘Oh my god!’ Cameron responded. ‘What’s happened to him?’

     ‘I don’t know how but he’s got himself isolated,’ Amy said.

     ‘How the hell did he end up over there?’ Cameron asked, spotting the former wrestler too.

     ‘Orton’s got him,’ Amy shot back. ‘He’s in trouble. Cover me!’ Amy snapped and jumped off the cart, dashing towards Punk.

 

     Punk struggled as he felt Orton’s teeth bury themselves deep in his shoulder. The initial shock had been so intense that he had screamed out like a dying animal. As suddenly as the Viper had struck, he pulled back, ripping a chunk of Punk’s flesh from his shoulder. Punk let out another howl. The pain was so incredible that he thought he would pass out.

     Orton grinned and spat out the meat from his mouth, his teeth now shining red with Punk’s blood. He released his grip on his victim’s hair and Punk’s body flopped to the ground. Punk gritted his teeth and brought his hand up to cover the gruesome wound on his shoulder.

     ‘I can taste your strength,’ Orton hissed. ‘It makes me stronger.’ He let out a psychotic laugh. ‘Thank you for the gift.’ He reached behind him and pulled a battered handgun from the waistband of his jeans. He placed the barrel onto the back of Punk’s skull. ‘In honour of your generosity, I will grant you a quick death.’

     Punk screwed his eyes shut and waited for the bullet.

     The gun sounded and his whole body jolted.

     But there was no pain!

     He opened one eye and found he was still very much alive.

     ‘Punk!’ Amy’s voice!

     He weakly raised his head and saw the red head sprinting towards them, smoked rising from her recently fired rifle. The weight lifted from his knee at last and he looked around to see Orton falling back, clutching a hole above his collarbone, blood spurting from the wound like a fountain.

     ‘Christ!’ Amy cursed as she saw the state of Punk and she threw herself onto her knees next to him.

     ‘I’m fine,’ Punk stuttered back, trying to raise himself up by his arm, the other one gripped tightly onto the tear on his shoulder.

     ‘No you’re not!’ Amy scolded and encouraged his fingers away from his wound. She hitched a breath on seeing the ugly, ragged cavity, spewing blood freely down his neck and back. ‘Come on, we have to get you out of here,’ she ordered and she tossed his arm over her shoulder and helped him to his feet. He let out a sharp hiss as his knee gave way but she stood strong and supported him as she led him back to the camp.

 

     Back in the heat of the battle, the exhausted troupe could finally see a reprieve from the attack.

     ‘There’s less of them now,’ Charlotte informed the rest of the crew. ‘Get into the cart and we’ll get the hell away from here.’ She swung her rifle over her back and picked up the reigns to the panicked horses.

     ‘Hold on!’ Cameron yelled, grabbing Charlotte’s arm. ‘We have to wait for Amy and Punk!’

     ‘What?’ Colt yelled, overhearing them from below. ‘Where are they?’

     ‘Orton isolated Punk and he was badly hurt,’ Cameron explained. ‘Amy went to help him.’

     ‘He’s hurt?’ Colt asked frantically. ‘Wait, what? How?’

     ‘I don’t know, I just heard him scream out-‘

     ‘That was Punk?’ Colt shot back in horror. ‘Jesus, I thought it was an animal or something.’

     ‘Amy’s there now to-‘

     ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Colt shouted at Cameron in panicked fury. ‘Where is he? I have to help him!’

     The first shot rang out and the entire camp, including the remaining Vipers, froze.

     Colt’s patience snapped and he climbed onto the cart and roughly grabbed Cameron’s arm. ‘WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?’

     ‘Hey! Over there!’

     The Widows looked to where Becky was pointing and could make out two familiar figures hobbling towards them.

     ‘It’s them!’ Charlotte exclaimed. ‘Nia, Naomi, fall back. Becky, Cameron, cover for them.’

     As Nia and Naomi jumped into the back of the wagon, Colt rushed out to help the oncoming party. Without a word, he threw Punk’s free arm over his shoulders and together they helped their injured companion to the back of the cart. After all three were on safely, Becky and Paige hopped onto either side of the box and Charlotte cracked the reigns. The horses bolted, dragging the cart behind them with a jolt and finally they were speeding away from the battle.

     Everybody on board began to feel a sigh of relief. They had all come through certain disaster, if not unscathed, then certainly alive. As the cart carried them away to safely, they each felt the tension start to leave their body.

     Suddenly a huge bang came from the side of the cart and it jerked to the side.

     ‘What the-‘ Amy said and made her way to the back of the wagon. She abruptly fell back, bleeding from the side of her head.

     ‘Amy?’ Paige asked and looked up in horror as a figure came into view at the back of the cart. It wasn’t human; it was a living nightmare! Chiselled teeth dripping with blood, with red crimson spraying from its chest.

     ‘PUUUUUUPPPP!’ the apparition screamed, and raised its hand. It had a gun!

     Colt faced down the creature but it pointed its weapon right at his face. Colt raised his hands.

     ‘Hey man, just put the-‘

     ‘WHERE IS HE?’ the nightmare screeched. It was an unholy sound that triggered something primal in their hearts.

     ‘I don’t know who you-‘

     ‘I’m here.’ Punk called out from the floor of the cart. Several Widows helped him to sit up. Punk also looked like something from a horror story. Pale as a sheet and streaming with dark red.

     ‘I never repaid you,’ Orton sneered and aimed his gun right between Punk’s eyes.

     ‘Oh, you’ve done plenty,’ Punk smirked and without warning, rushed forward, a rifle in his hands. He raised it like a club and thrust the butt straight into Orton’s face. The creature dropped his weapon. Punk struck another blow with the rifle and the monster fell with a howl, landing awkwardly on the ground and tumbling into the dust. They all watched the figure as it finally came to a halt on the ground but it never stirred again.


	10. Our Seperate Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 10 Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-10-cover-809172468?ga_submit_new=10%3A1565464447&ga_type=edit&ga_changes=1)   
>  [Randy Orton Profile](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Randy-Orton-Profile-808614293)

     The cart raced away into the night and did not stop even as the dawn arrived. Charlotte stayed on the box like a trooper and bullied the horses on until their flanks were frothing with sweat. The Widows wanted to put as much distance between themselves and the scene of the ambush as possible. There was no telling how the Vipers would react on the death of their leader; perhaps they would merely disband, maybe they would be hungry for retribution.

     While Charlotte sat on the box with Cameron keeping point on their rear, the rest of the Widows were huddled in the back of the wagon, tending to their injured. Colt watched helplessly as Paige applied pressure to the ragged wound on Punk’s shoulder. He’d removed his shirt, his torso marred with red streaks and purple bruises. His face was white as a sheet and he grunted in pain every couple of minutes. The injury was proving very difficult to treat.

     ‘If this blood doesn’t clot soon, we might have to do some kind of transfusion,’ Paige whispered to Colt.

     ‘I’m hurt, not deaf,’ Punk muttered.

     ‘Can you do that?’ Colt asked Paige, ignoring his friend.

     ‘Technically yes, but we really don’t want to go down that path,’ Paige explained. ‘We have little to no antibiotics and it’s a really risky procedure. I don’t even know if anybody here will match his blood type.’

     ‘If it keeps him alive, we’ll try anything,’ Colt said firmly.

     ‘Colt!’ a voice called from the other side of the wagon. He turned to find Naomi, Becky and Amy hovering over Nia who was in a bad state. ‘We need your help.’

     ‘Tell me what to do,’ he said as he joined them beside the imposing Widow.

     ‘We need you to remove the knife,’ Amy said in a firm voice, pointing out the blade, which was still lodged in Nia’s side. Colt gulped down a pocket of vomit and nodded. ‘Pull it slowly and as steady as you can,’ Amy instructed. ‘We’re going to try and stop the bleeding. Got it?’

     ‘Got it,’ Colt spluttered out, feeling very light headed all of a sudden.

     ‘Ok, let’s give this a go.’

     Colt got up onto his knees and let out a long breathe as his fingers wiggled in the air, mentally preparing himself for the task ahead. With a final nod, he softly placed his hands around the handle of the blade and gripped it tightly. He looked up one last time to the three widows and they all signaled that they were ready.

     The blade was lodged in deep and it took a lot of strength to pull it loose. He kept a firm grip and, as instructed, pulled the knife up straight and slow. As the point of the weapon finally came free from Nia’s flesh, the three Widows stepped in and Colt was free to go. He backed away from the operation and was about to throw the bloody knife out the back of the cart when he heard a feeble voice.

     ‘No,’ he looked down to see Nia staring up at him. ‘Give it to me.’ He couldn’t fathom why she’d want it but he handed the knife to Nia’s open hand anyway, watching her clutch it tightly. He became aware of a bubbling feeling in his stomach and only just made it to the back of the cart as his guts spewed up their contents.

     After he had brought up everything his body had to offer and wiped the vomit from his mouth, Colt took in a couple of fresh breaths before turning back to check on Punk. He arrived expecting the worst but Paige smiled back at him.

     ‘The bleeding’s finally stopped,’ she said with a grin and Colt felt an overwhelming rush of relief. ‘That’s the bad bit over with… the worst bit's next.’ Colt didn’t know if she was warning him or Punk.

     ‘I can take it,’ Punk said without hesitation.

    ‘We don’t have any anesthetics but I can give you some painkillers-’

     ‘I said…’ Punk removed his studded belt from around his waist, ‘..I can take it.’ He placed the end of the belt into his mouth and bit down hard on the leather. He looked up and his hazel eyes locked onto Colt’s face, which was even paler than his own. ‘Colt,’ he said, removing the belt from his lips. ‘You don’t need to watch this.’

     ‘Yeah,’ Colt muttered under his breath. ‘I do.’

     The experience was even worse than Colt was expecting. First, the alcohol was applied and a scream escaped Punk’s throat, muffled by the leather between his teeth. He bunched his fists up so tight his knuckles turned white.

     Then came the stitches.

     It was certainly not the first time that Punk had received stitches, but it was without a doubt the worst. The wound on his shoulder was gaping and the edges so jagged that it made the whole procedure more complicated and each time the thread pulled the maw shut, it was excruciating. All of the agony was accelerated by the lack of anesthetic and at some points, he was afraid of passing out. Yet he pulled through the ordeal, helped the whole time by Colt’s encouraging words. At last the wound was closed, and Paige finished cleaning it up.

     ‘Can’t be too careful,’ she said, applying fresh gauze to the closed gap. ‘The human mouth is a disgusting place. You could pick up anything from a scumbag like that Orton guy.’

     She began to dress the wound in bandages and Punk felt exhaustion start to take him over. He removed his belt from his mouth and stared down at the damage done by his teeth. In some parts, he had almost bit right through the thick leather.

     ‘Once she’s done, you can get some rest,’ Colt assured his friend.

     Punk managed a weak smile. ‘Thanks for your help, buddy,’ he said.

     ‘No problem,’ Colt smiled back. ‘Now, if you’re done here, I need to go dry heave out the back for an hour or two.’

    

     Finally, with the Illinois border far behind them, the cart came to a stop. Charlotte slumped, exhausted in the box and was fast asleep in seconds. Cameron placed a blanket over her before stumbling off the cart to see to the horses.

     ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ she heard Amy approach from behind and hand her a sleeping bag. ‘Go sleep, now.’ Cameron didn’t need to be told twice. Amy, Becky, Paige, Naomi and Colt, being the least wounded from the night before went about setting up camp, rubbing down the exhausted horses and organising food for the whole troupe, both human and beast alike. Once everything was settled, Amy allowed everybody some time to rest and recuperate.

     She found Colt sitting by the fire with Paige, who was tending to the wound on his arm. ‘Hey guys,’ she smiled as walked up behind them. They both turned and greeted her. ‘Paige, could I speak to Colt alone, please?’

     ‘Sure,’ Paige replied, ‘just let me finish tying this up.’ Once Colt’s arm was safely bandaged, she got up and walked off while Amy took her place beside him.

     ‘You ok?’ she asked, motioning to his arm.

     ‘Fine,’ Colt reassured her, ‘just a minor stab from a machete, you know, nothing serious.’

     ‘I’m glad to hear that,’ she smiled.

     ‘Punk’s doing good too,’ he said.

     ‘I’m glad to hear that too. I’ll go check on him in a bit.’ She looked straight at Colt, a proud smile on her face. ‘I just wanted to say, how grateful I am for last night.’ Colt started to dismiss her but Amy cut him off. ‘Let me speak.’ Colt nodded, silently encouraging her to continue. ‘Look, when we first met you and Punk, I didn’t know whether to trust you guys. A group of women, especially in this day and age, often have a target on their back - I mean, look what happened last night.

     ‘I agreed to take you with us, not because Punk was hurt or you’d both just lost your friend, but because I needed some more eyes, ears and fists if we came across any trouble. I’d already heard all the rumours about the border and figured if you guys were genuine, we had more power on our side; if you betrayed us, we could just shoot you both and been no worse off. Looking back now, it was really selfish of me.’

     Colt was actually a little shocked to hear this side of the story, but he also understood Amy’s way of thinking. Her first priority was the safety of her Widows. Nothing else mattered above them.

     ‘But as time passed, I grew to realise that you were both great guys, and I wasn’t alone. Everybody warmed up to you, especially Paige. And Punk, well…’ Colt suddenly looked a little uncomfortable and Amy let out a laugh. ‘He told you about the other night, didn’t he?’

    ‘Oh God no,’ Colt quickly replied. ‘He isn’t like that.’ He could see Amy smile warmly as she dipped her head. ‘I’ve just known him too long and figured it out. I can tell when he likes somebody like that.’

     ‘He likes me?’ Amy snapped her head up and Colt put his hands up.

     ‘Woah, that’s not really for me to say,’ Colt said sheepishly.

     ‘I was… surprised when he turned me down,’ Amy confessed, remembering that chat by the fire. ‘He talked about somebody called April…’ she looked at Colt but he gave nothing away. ‘Anyway, last night. You were both amazing. You didn’t turn on us or go running away when things got tough. You stayed and fought alongside us, even when it looked like we had no chance of winning.’ Amy looked straight into Colt’s eyes, a friendly smile on her face. ‘I heard how you went running after Paige. You saved her life.’

     ‘She really saved herself – I only took out one guy.’

     ‘If you hadn’t gone to help her, she would have been gang raped, tortured and killed.’ Colt suppressed a shiver at the thought. ‘I know that, Paige knows that, even you have to realise that. You went to her aid, even though you were outnumbered and could have been killed. You were incredibly brave and like I said, I’ll never forget that.’

     ‘Well, thanks,’ Colt said with a shy smile. ‘But it’s what any guy would do.’

     ‘Hah,’ Amy snorted scornfully. ‘Anyway, that’s not all I have to thank you for. You protected Nia after she got stabbed, defended my team, helped us escape and don’t think I didn’t see you throw your guts up after you helped us remove that knife.’ By now, Colt’s cheeks were flushed. ‘We give our thanks to you, all of us. You are an incredible guy.’ She leant over and kissed his cheek softly. ‘Punk’s really lucky to have such a fiercely loyal friend by his side.’

     Colt was lost for words and just sat in stunned silence, absorbing her kinds words. Amy laughed softly then stood up. ‘We’re going to stay here until tomorrow morning. Rest up, eat plenty and if you need anything at all, just let me know.’

     ‘Thanks,’ Colt choked out. That night he sat by the fire, feeling for the first time in days a sense of contentment.

 

     Punk’s eyes softly flickered open and he slowly stirred from his sleep. His body was completely numb and felt as heavy as lead.

     ‘Hey.’ A friendly voice sang close by. Punk smiled.

     ‘Hey,’ he said, eyeing Amy who was sitting by his side, facing him. ‘Were you watching me sleep?’

     ‘I was watching over Nia too until she got up and left a few minutes ago,’ Amy pointed out. ‘So don’t go getting a big head or anything.’

     ‘How long was I out?’ Punk asked.

     ‘A few hours,’ Amy replied. ‘But don’t worry, you’re not the last up. Charlotte and Cameron are still out like lights.’

     ‘Guess I’d best be getting- AAGGH!’ Punk had tried to pull himself up but the pain in his shoulder hit him like a lightning bolt. Amy shot up and placed her hand on Punk’s chest, gently pushing him back down.

     ‘Woah, soldier,’ she said firmly. ‘You’re on bed rest today. That’s an order.’

     ‘But everybody-‘

     ‘Everybody is resting too,’ she reassured him. ‘We had a tough time last night. Can I get you some painkillers?’

     ‘My knee?’ Punk asked Amy.

     ‘Orton did a number on it,’ Amy confessed, ‘but nothing is broken, or permanently damaged from what we can tell. It’s just badly swollen and we don’t have anything we can put on it to reduce the swelling. All we have is Ibuprofen.’ Punks scrunched up his nose, making Amy laugh. ‘You know, just because you’re straight edge doesn’t mean you can’t take medicine.’

     ‘I once fractured my skull and never took anything for that,’ Punk said with a smirk.

     ‘How did that work out for you?’

     ‘I’m a picture of health, aren’t I?’ he grinned arrogantly. ‘True, I was in a kind of coma in our basement for a month but…’

     Amy laughed. She was happy to see him getting back to his old ways. Punk smiled up at her.

     ‘Now, you’re the one who looks like a knock-off Colt Cabana,’ he said, motioning to the bandage around her head.

     ‘Seriously?’ they heard a voice shout out from the camp and they laughed, knowing Colt had heard that last comment.

     ‘Nothing major, that Orton guy clocked me with his pistol,’ Amy explained. ‘Your buddy has a matching one too so I guess we’re both knock-off Colt Cabanas.’

     ‘I’m not a knock-off! I’m the real deal!’ they heard Colt yell once more.

     ‘Stop listening into our private conversation!’ Punk shouted, banging the side of the cart. He turned to Amy again and smiled softly. ‘Speaking of last night, I never got a chance to thank you for saving my life,’ Punk said to Amy, who smiled in return.

     ‘You have a chance now,’ she teased.

     ‘Thank you,’ Punk said in the most sincere voice she had ever heard him use.

     ‘You’re welcome,’ she beamed back. ‘And thank you. All my Widows owe you a great debt. You were amazing out there.’

     ‘Well, until a razor toothed freak got his hands on me,’ he joked, but there was bitterness in his voice.

     ‘I noticed that my lesson came in useful,’ she grinned, referring to when he battered Orton off the cart with the butt of his rifle.

     ‘And here I was, calling you an asshole at the time,’ Punk shook his head. ‘I stand corrected. You were right; it saved our lives.’

     They both started chuckling but as the merriment simmered down, Punk turned to Amy with a serious look on his face.

     ‘I’ve been thinking about something else you said,’ he murmured, softly. ‘That day, after we kissed.’

     ‘Yeah?’ she said.

     ‘You were right about that too.’ Her eyes widened. ‘This is a new world; and it’s harsh and dark and our lives could be snuffed out at any moment.’ They locked eyes and she was suddenly lost in his radiant gaze, swimming in hazel, flecked with olive green. ‘We need the light to survive but the sky is blocked out,’ he continued, ‘so we need to find our own light. Our own happiness.’ He smiled at her sadly and the realisation hit her.

     ‘You know, most guys just say ‘no thanks’ instead of a fancy speech,’ she sighed, rolling her eyes.

     ‘I just want you to understand,’ Punk said. ‘You really threw me for a spin. You’re brave and smart and beautiful and we have so much in common. Had this been another time and place, we could‘ve had something here, I really believe that. But Ape is more… she is…’

     ‘Your light?’ Amy asked.

     ‘She’s the sun,’ he replied with such passion that she couldn’t feel any anger towards him.

     ‘Then stay true to her,’ Amy nodded. ‘Do what you think is right by her.’

     ‘You mad?’ Punk asked.

     ‘No,’ Amy replied, honestly. ‘A bit jealous, maybe, but not mad. If I were in April’s shoes, I wouldn’t want you fooling around with some girl you just met in the wilderness either.’

     ‘You’re not just ‘some girl’,’ Punk argued.

     ‘That means a lot to me,’ Amy smiled. ‘And hey, we’ll always have the Vipers,’ she teased.

     ‘Ooohh yaayyy,’ Punk cheered sarcastically.

     ‘You look exhausted,’ Amy noted. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll check on you in an hour – make sure you’re not dead.’

     ‘Thanks,’ Punk laughed as he watched Amy get to her feet and walk to the back of the cart.

     ‘Oh and Punk?’ she said turning around.

     ‘Uh-huh?’

     ‘Whatever you do, make damn sure you find her.’

 

     The Widows ended up staying at the camp for two more nights and by the time morning dawned on the third day they were all refreshed and eager to hit the open road again. Punk stayed on bed rest for the first night before he’d had enough and by the morning, he was easing himself back onto his feet. He limped out the back of the wagon, wearing his Cubs cap and leather jacket (his hoodie had been left behind in the hasty retreat, along with his pipe and both of their sleeping bags). His knee was still a swollen mess but with some help from Paige, he wrapped it up tight to keep it sturdy and hobbled around the camp, using a long tree branch for support.

     Colt was thrilled to see his best friend up and about again, although he did think it was too early but there was nothing anybody could say to change his stubborn friend’s mind. Colt presented Punk with his old Ramones T-shirt, which he had lovingly washed the blood out of and repaired the torn collar to make it as good as new. Paige admired Colt’s handiwork, pointing out how his knack for sewing ring gear did have its uses, after all. She promptly showed him how to stitch a wound shut and found he was a natural. Colt was thrilled to learn something that would serve them both well in the coming months.

     Once word got around the camp about the nature of his shoulder wound, Punk became a spectacle of morbid fascination from the other Widows, who were often caught staring at his neck. He couldn’t blame them; it wasn’t every day you met a guy who sported an actual human bite wound but it did make him feel like some curiosity at a carnival.

     Despite his improving condition, Punk had completely lost his appetite, and stuck to mainly drinking water. On rare occasions (when pushed) he would munch on some tinned peaches but very little settled in his stomach. He assured everybody that he was ok and just needed some time for his body to recuperate.

     That night, while Naomi and Cameron took up first watch, the remaining members of the troupe gathered by the fire and exchanged stories. Most were about their past lives but some were about their heroics during the battle. Paige recounted her rescue by Colt, which had everybody in awe, except the man himself who looked like he wanted to disappear into his shirt. It was the first time Punk had even heard of his friend’s brave deeds during the ambush and he patted him proudly on the shoulder.

     To deflect the attention away from himself, Colt encouraged Punk to talk about the monstrous man he had taken down at the beginning of the night and, ever the storyteller (especially when he was the subject of conversation), he was happy to oblige. The tale of the skinny Chicago-born punk verses the ‘roided up giant certainly had a captivated audience - even the two Widows on guard duty listened in to the daring David and Goliath fable.

     After several hours of laughing and sharing, Cameron came to hand over watch duty to Paige and she snuck away to take up her post. Nobody saw her go, except for Colt who, ten minutes later, got up and snuck away from the merriment too. He found Paige a few feet away, sitting on a small wall, with rifle in hand.

     ‘Hey,’ he said and she turned around and grinned.

     ‘Hey Colt Cabana, how you doin’,’ she beamed.

     ‘I see that’s spreading,’ Colt sighed, mentally reminding himself to get even with Punk later. ‘It sounds really strange in your twee English accent.’

     ‘I’m from Norwich,’ she exclaimed. ‘My accent is really not twee!’

     ‘I don’t know where that is or what that means but you still sound like the Queen of England to me,’ he teased, taking a seat next to her on the wall.

     ‘So, have you come to keep me company?’ she asked.

     ‘Yeah, kinda,’ he said, rubbing his palms together nervously. ‘And to see how you’re holding up.’

     ‘I’m good,’ she smiled, ‘thanks to you.’ She nudged his shoulder playfully.

     ‘I really wish you would all stop bringing that up,’ he groaned. ‘It wasn’t a big deal.’

     ‘It was to me,’ she said softly. ‘Thanks.’

     ‘Thankssssss,’ he muttered under his breath, absentmindedly, staring down at the ground.

     Paige looked up at the sky, her smile faded. ‘This is our last night together.’

     ‘I guess it is,’ Colt replied. ‘The deal was we’d stay with you guys until we reached Missouri. Guess now, Punk and I will make our way to Florida.’

     ‘Colt,’ Paige asked slowly. ‘Can I ask you an awkward question?’

     ‘Uh, sure,’ Colt said back, even slower.

     ‘Do you think I’m hot?’

     Colt let out a splutter; he’d been completely caught off-guard by her forwardness.

     ‘What? No!’ he gushed, then saw her shocked face, ‘I mean yes, but not in that way, I mean, would I? Yeah probably, but I wouldn’t because I respect you, and you’re awesome, and way too nice. I’m not saying you’re unattractive or anything ‘cause you’re not, you’re beautiful, in like, you know, a painting is beautiful, or… charity is beautiful! And I love that about you… LIKE! I LIKE that about you.’

     Paige knocked her head back and laughed out loud at Colt’s adorably bumbled response. She could see he was getting really hot under the collar and it made him even more endearing. Without warning, she reached over, grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him close, locking her lips onto his. Colt froze in place, his eyes wide with shock and awe. He expected Paige to pull away, to cringe, to realise she’d made one huge, horrible mistake but she parted her lips softly, encouraging him to kiss her back. Eventually, he closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss.

     He was just starting to relax when Paige pulled back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he burst out.

     ‘You want this?’ Paige asked him, her nose brushing softly against his.

     ‘Uh… yeah… if you do,’ he replied, breathlessly.

     ‘I do,’ she said without hesitation.

     She captured his lips again but pulled back once more. ‘Colt, you’ll always protect me, won’t you?’

     ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice strong. ‘Always.’

     ‘Can you… stay with me a little longer?’ she asked. ‘It gets really lonely out here by myself.’

     ‘Of course.’ Colt’s arms suddenly remembered they could move and softly wrapped around Paige, hugging her in close. She sighed, feeling secure in his embrace as she reached up to capture his lips once more.

 

     The third morning dawned with a bittersweet mood in the air. Although everybody was keen to get back on the road again, there was a melancholy that came with going their separate ways. Punk and Colt had been as good as their word and helped the Widows safely across the border, now they had to show the same courtesy in keeping their side of the bargain. Amy gave Punk a map and showed him the route to Tampa. He had to keep his wits about him since many of the landmarks were no longer standing and he had no compass, stars or even sunrise to help him find his bearings.

     ‘Keep your eyes open and try to find any town you come across on the map. That should help you get back on track,’ Amy instructed Punk who took in every word.

     ‘Thanks for this,’ he told her.

     ‘I really hope you manage to find her,’ she smiled. The words hurt more than she made out. Punk merely nodded in return.

     The Widows stuffed the two men’s packs with essentials they may need for their journey. They loaded them up with food, water, fresh bandages, alcohol, a needle and thread and even donated two sleeping bags for them. They initially refused but the Widows would not take no for an answer.

     The two men said their goodbyes to each Widow in turn. They all wished each a safe journey and hoped they would see them again. By the time, Colt finally turned to Paige, she was holding back tears.

     ‘Well, see you around,’ she gasped out and threw her arms around Colt’s shoulders. He hugged her back, his eyes glazed over too.

     ‘Paige,’ he started and she pulled away to look at him. ‘When we first met you guys, I was in a real dark place. I was lost. I didn’t know if what I was doing was right and I felt like I was being punished or something, for turning my back on the people in New Chicago. You really helped me out, more than you’ll ever know. So thank you.’

     ‘Don’t thank me,’ she simply shrugged. ‘It was just meant to be.’

     ‘Still on that fate stuff, huh?’ he teased, ‘heh, maybe you’re right.’ He shrugged. It wasn’t much but she took it as a small victory.

     Meanwhile, Punk and Amy were saying their goodbyes.

     ‘If you’re ever around Mexico way, ask for us,’ Amy told him. ‘You’ll always have a friend in the Widows.’

     ‘I’ll remember that,’ he replied. They both sighed. There was so much to be said but neither could find the words. Eventually, Colt joined Punk’s side and the time had come to go their separate ways.

     ‘Goodbye Colt, Punk,’ Amy said, then gave a chaste kiss on Punk’s cheek, ‘and good luck.’

     ‘Luck is for losers,’ Punk teased but his voice was laced with sadness. He watched as Charlotte started the horses on their way and the cart rolled along. As each Widow passed by, they all waved and shouted their last farewells. Finally Paige, taking up the rear as always, walked past with a smile.

     ‘She looks so lonely,’ Colt noted with a sigh. They both watched as the troupe marched off into the distance, a sinking feeling in the pit of their stomachs. Eventually the small parade disappeared over the horizon.

     Punk turned to his friend and seeing the sadness in his face, slapped him playfully on the shoulder. ‘Well, looks like we both struck out again, huh?’ he taunted. ‘Maybe next time, buddy.’

     ‘Hey, speak for yourself,’ Colt shot back as his friend started limping away down the route Amy had instructed them to take. 

     ‘Wait! What?’ Punk spun around, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. ‘Wait, you and Paige?’

     ‘My lips are sealed,’ Colt stuck his chin out. ‘A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.’

     ‘In other words, she gave you a quick peck on the cheek.’ Colt replied by curtly tapping his nose. ‘Bullshit! I call bullshit. Oh come on, you're really not gonna tell me...'

     As the two men walked away, they were unaware of a figure huddled down behind a wall, watching their every move. As soon as the coast was clear he dashed off into the distance, his spry feet gliding along the ground like a ghost, silent and swift. He eventually reached a sheltered nook where a simple camp had been set up and two men were lingering in wait for their companion. One, with a shaggy mop of dirty blonde hair was lying against a rock with his arms behind his head, taking sips from a hip flask. The other was crouched by the fire, deep in thought. He was large and muscular with long black hair. Tribal tattoos adorned his right arm, a symbol of his Samoan heritage. Both men stirred as they saw their lean friend with two-toned hair approach them.

     ‘Well?’ the blonde asked, getting to his feet. ‘Can we go get our hands dirty now?’

     ‘They’ve left the Widows,’ the leaner man confirmed. ‘They’re on their own and they’re hurt.’

     ‘They fought well against the Vipers,’ the large man said. ‘They won’t be pushovers, even with injuries.’

     ‘I didn’t really pay attention,’ the blonde admitted, with a smirk. ‘I was too busy watchin’ those lovely ladies kicking ass.’

     ‘Colton’s got a banged up arm and Brooks is walking with a limp,’ the lean man pointed out. ‘This is the best time to attack.’

     ‘True, but there’s still one platinum haired, knife-wielding problem,’ the dirty blonde replied. ‘Colton and Brooks are easy to track down; Luci is another. She may even know we’re here already.’

     ‘She doesn’t,’ the lean man assured him. ‘If she did, she would have told Brooks that night at the camp.’

     ‘Brooks,’ the larger man said under his breath, thinking hard. ‘He’s the key.’ His brothers in arms looked at him. ‘Her team said that ever since they brought Brooks in, she’s had this weird obsession with him. He’s the reason she turned her back on Bischoff and her own party, now she’s following him like some pathetic fangirl.’ He turned to his companion with a cold and calculating look. ‘If we get Brooks, Luci will play right into our hands.’

 


	11. The Lonely House on the Derelict Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Distressing scenes and graphic injury detail
> 
> [Chapter 11 Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-11-cover-810855725?ga_submit_new=10%3A1566670162)

It was slow going on the next leg of their journey. As soon as they had left the Widows, Punk had thrown the branch he had been using as a crutch into a ditch at the side of the road.

     ‘You sure that’s wise?’ Colt had said.

     ‘I’ve had worse injuries than this during matches and still been able to finish them,’ Punk had said, stubbornly.

     ‘Ok,’ Colt had said, unconvinced. ‘But when you fall flat on your face, don’t come crying to me.’

     It had turned out to be a bad idea but Punk was far too proud to admit it. He’d thought some movement would help strengthen his knee and get it back to normal but he found himself struggling more and more each day. He bound it tightly to try and keep it sturdy yet every time he stepped on it, he could feel it wobble and he had to rely on his good leg to help him through. He was aware that he was really slowing them down but without Joe’s team on their tail anymore, and plenty of food in their packs, they could afford to take their time.

     Colt, however, was starting to get frustrated with his best friend. It wasn’t just about his leg, it was also his appetite, or lack thereof. He had to open cans without Punk seeing then force them into his hand. When Punk refused, he would guilt him into eating by pointing out it was a waste of their rations.

     ‘We’re barely eating enough as it is,’ Colt scolded. ‘Keep going the way you are and April will be reuniting with your corpse.’

     ‘I get it,’ Punk mumbled. ‘It’s not the eating that’s the problem. It’s keeping it down. What’s the point when it all just comes right back up again.’

     ‘If your body digests even a couple of calories before it throws it back up, then it’s a victory,’ Colt said, pointedly and Punk complied, forcing down half a can of soup warmed by the fire. It sat awkwardly in his stomach for the remainder of the evening but as Colt drifted off to sleep, Punk felt his guts shift and everything came back up.

     To combat the lack of food, Punk was downing water faster than they could collect it. Despite the plentiful supplies they had received from the Widows, they became reliant on the rainfall and any water source they could get their hands on.

     One day, they found themselves walking along a lonely path. The road had been neglected for a long time and was strewn with potholes. Brown, sloping hills surrounded them on either side and not a single breath of wind penetrated the secluded valley. They felt completely isolated, emphasising the loneliness that had hung around them like a bad smell since separating from the Widows. Colt stopped and turned, waiting for Punk to catch up.

     ‘Jesus,’ he exclaimed looking at his friend. ‘You’re sweating bullets.’

     ‘I’m fine,’ he panted, removing his cap and wiping the downpour from his forehead. ‘Just this fucking knee’s pushing me extra hard today.’

     Colt watched him and saw how his short hair was sticking to his skin, even under his cap and chewed his cheek with concern. ‘You want a rest?’

     ‘Nah, I just need to catch my breath,’ he replied, pulling a water bottle from his pack and taking a deep swig before splashing a tiny amount over his face. ‘I’m ready now.’

     ‘OK,’ Colt said, uncertainly.

     They walked on side by side, Colt slowing his pace to match Punk’s. The whole time, Colt focused on his friend’s breathing, which was more laboured and raspy than normal. He was pushing himself too much and his body wasn’t coping. He would have to make him rest before he burnt himself out.

     He felt as if his prayers were answered, when he spotted a house in the distance.

     ‘See that?’ Punk asked.

     ‘Yeah,’ Colt said. ‘Haven’t seen one of those for a while.’

     ‘A house?’ Punk asked, confused.

     ‘That’s still standing.’

     ‘You think anybody’s there?’ Punk queried, concern in his voice.

     ‘I don’t think anybody’s been this way for a long time,’ Colt replied. ‘Come on, let’s have a look. First sign of danger; we’re out of there!’

     As they walked closer to the house, they became more convinced that it had been abandoned for a while, but other than filthy windows and a front gate hanging off its hinges, it was in a decent state. They scouted around the building and seeing no sign of recent life, they tried the back door and found it pleasantly unlocked.

     ‘Jesus, it’s like stepping back in time,’ Colt forced out as they walked into what turned out to be the kitchen. It was immaculately kept with everything neatly tidied away. Punk walked over to the cupboards and found them lined with food left by the occupants.

     ‘Jackpot!’ he exclaimed and called Colt over for a look. All of the perishables had rotted away but there was still enough to load their packs up and keep them going for a month.

     ‘We got enough room?’ Colt asked.

     ‘We’ll make room,’ Punk insisted. ‘We probably won’t get a chance like this again.’

     Punk dropped his pack and began to eagerly reach in and look at each item before stuffing them into their bags. As he raided the cupboards, he heard Colt walk away through the open door to the dining room.

     ‘Punkers, come see this,’ he called through and Punk dropped the cans of beans he was holding and joined him.

     ‘This is insane,’ he said, rifling through a paper, dated June 27th 2011\. The day of the Event. There was nothing of any note in it. No pictures of destroyed cities or panic strewn headlines. ‘It was just another typical day,’ he said, sadly.

     ‘This just feels… wrong,’ Punk said, looking around the room with china dogs over the mantle piece and crystal glasses of every variety lined up beautifully in a cabinet.

     ‘It is pretty spooky,’ Colt agreed. To see this museum of peaceful family life standing amongst acres of dying countryside was an unsettling juxtaposition and brought back memories of everything they had lost. It was as if they were standing in some sort of anomaly that had frozen the house in time. ‘What do you think happened to the owners?’

     ‘Most likely fled like everybody else,’ Punk suggested.

     ‘This is exactly what we need right now,’ Colt exclaimed to Punk, who looked at him as if he had just turned bright blue and sprouted wings. ‘You’ve been struggling with your knee, right? So let’s chill here for a while until you feel better. We’re not being hunted down anymore, we have more food than we can carry and who knows what else we could use in this place.’

     ‘What if another Viper incident happens?’ Punk asked, not convinced.

     ‘Look at this place,’ Colt said, motioning to the room. ‘We’re the first people to have stepped in here in over a year. It’s safe as, well, _houses.’_

Punk still looked uneasy with the idea, so Colt devised a plan. ‘Let me go have a look upstairs,’ he said, ‘see if I can find a nice, comfy bed. With a mattress! And pillows! Imagine sinking down into one of those again. Your knee will feel 100% in no time at all.’

     ‘That does sound pretty tempting,’ Punk admitted.

     Colt grinned at his friend. ‘That’s the spirit. Wait down here, I’ll be right back.’

     As Colt headed to the upper floor of the house, Punk wandered around the ground level. Walking out the door to the stairwell, he found the living room opposite the dining room and much like the other spaces in the house it was completely immaculate and untouched. He opened a cabinet under the dusty TV set and let out a small laugh as he pulled out a boxset of the first season of the Walking Dead. He had loved the series and had been keen to find out what happened next, yet, it never saw past the first season. The Event made sure of that.

     In fact, everything he had enjoyed; the TV shows he watched, his beloved comics that he collected every week and the video games he played in his spare time.

     All gone.

     Relics of a distant era.

     ‘JESUS FUCKIN’! SHIT!’

     Colt’s shouts from the floor above snapped Punk back to cruel reality and he stumbled out into the hallway just in time to see Colt come hammering down the stairs, his face a mask of horror.

     ‘You ok? What happened?’ Punk asked his frantic friend.

     ‘I – oh god! – I found the owners,’ Colt blurted out, trying to calm himself down.

     ‘You what?’ Punk asked, not sure he heard him right. He made his way to the stairs but Colt grabbed his arm.

     ‘Seriously, dude,’ he said, his face turning green, ‘you don’t want to go up there.’

     Punk decided to have a look anyway as Colt bolted back to the kitchen. He struggled up the stairs and found himself on a landing. Everything seemed innocent enough. A door opposite the stairs led to an empty bathroom. All the other doors were closed except one, which Punk deduced was the one Colt had looked in. As he approached the door, he became aware of a sharp stench in the air and, biting down on his lip ring, he walked in.

     Everything was still in what appeared to be the master bedroom of the house. An antique cabinet and dressing table aligned one side of the room but as Punk stepped in, he saw what Colt was referring to. On the bed, lying in a desperate embrace were two skeletons. Punk suppressed a pocket of vomit on seeing the pair of corpses and immediately backed out of the room, unable to remove his eyes from the tragic scene.

     Back out on the landing, he wasn’t sure what prompted him to open the remaining two doors but the sight he saw would haunt him for the rest of his days. Two rooms, one green with cartoon character motifs stuck to the wall the other sky blue and decorated with pink and yellow birds. A box of action figures, a corner piled high with stuffed toys. A small bed in the shape of a racecar, a white crib.

     Two blankets over their heads, two sets of feet, one barely reaching the end of their bed, the other barely reaching the age of one.

     Punk limped down the stairs as fast as his leg would allow and burst into the kitchen where he found Colt who was composing himself.

     ‘Grab the packs, we’re getting out of here,’ he ordered and picked his bag up.

     ‘But the rest of the food-‘

     ‘ _Now,_ Colt!’

     The two men walked on until the house was out of sight behind them. Seeing that horrific tableau helped spur Punk on as he tried to blot out the image of those two bedrooms. He couldn’t judge what those parents did to their children. He had not been there for the Event. He did not know the uncertainty and blind panic that those who survived had to go through. This family were alone, isolated. Not even a neighbour nearby to help them.

     Once the electricity went down and the phone lines died, they predicted the end. They saw no other way. Their children were not going to suffer.

     He couldn’t judge them but he couldn’t forget either.

 

     An hour later and Punk looked ready to collapse so they decided to set up camp. As Colt layered up a pile of branches for the fire, Punk sat on the ground, staring down into his hands.

     ‘You saw something else didn’t you?’ Colt asked him.

     ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

     That evening, the two men sat by the fire, deep in thought. That lonely house was haunting the pair of them - the house and its ghosts.

     Punk lifted the bottom of his shirt and wiped his sweaty brow. When he looked up he saw Colt thrusting a can into his hand.

     ‘Not tonight, Colt,’ he groaned.

     ‘Yes tonight, and tomorrow and the next until you keep it down,’ his friend ordered.

     ‘I really don’t think I can manage it-‘

     ‘GODDAMMIT! I’m getting _really_ tired of this, Phil! Just eat the damn food or I swear to God I will pin you down and _make_ you eat it!’

     Punk was taken aback. He had never seen his friend get so angry at him before, and when he called him by his legal name, he knew he was being serious. With a sigh, he accepted the can.

     ‘Thanks,’ Punk said, looking down at the tinned meat. He started to say something but cut himself off.

     ‘What is it?’ Colt asked.

     ‘Is there any fruit? Like pineapple or something?’

     Colt smiled. At least he was trying to cooperate this time. ‘Yeah,’ he said, rummaging in his pack and they did a swap, Colt ate the meat while Punk managed to finish a small can of pineapple chunks.

    ‘I’ll take first watch tonight,’ Punk said after their meal.

     ‘No you’re not,’ Colt argued. ‘You look like you’re about to fall asleep any second. I’m gonna keep watch all night and you are gonna get some rest, got it?’

     ‘I thought I was meant to be the one in charge?’ Punk asked, with a small smile.

     ‘Call this a temporary mutiny,’ Colt smirked back.

     After a while, Punk laid down in his sleeping bag and even Colt was shocked to see he went out like a light. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise though. The lack of sleep, the lack of food, not to mention the brutal beat down he’d received less than a week ago had taken their toll on him and he was at the end of his rope. His exhaustion was preventing his body from recovering too and Colt couldn’t help but notice how the bruises on his abdomen were still very prominent.

     As Colt sat alone by the fire, he checked his own wounds. The gash on his head had been minor and he gladly removed the bandage and threw it into the fire. His arm was also healing nicely and with the wound safely scabbed over, he no longer needed the dressing for it either. He watched the bindings burn in the flames, crisping up and curling like small snakes.

     Morning came and despite his full night’s rest, Punk looked even more hellish than before. Colt’s heart fell to the pit of his stomach.

     ‘We can stay here another night?’ he suggested, as Punk sipped on some water.

     ‘No need,’ he replied. ‘I’m just groggy. Once we start moving, I’ll be-‘ He shot up and ran a few feet away as his body rejected the fruit he had eaten the night before.

     They were back on the road and Punk was still faring no better. His steps were laboured and he was starting to stumble slightly. Colt turned and found him fiddling with the straps of his pack in frustration.

     ‘You want me to take it?’ he asked, stretching out a hand.

     ‘It’s fine,’ Punk said through gritted teeth. ‘It just keeps rubbing my-‘ He dropped the bag to the ground and his hand instantly reached up and cupped his shoulder. It all came rushing to Colt in a second.

     ‘Is your shoulder bothering you?’ he asked, afraid of the answer. Punk immediately looked away as if he had been found out. ‘Punk?’ Colt asked, more forcefully this time.

     ‘A little,’ he replied, sheepishly.

     ‘Let me have a look,’ Colt said and took a step towards him but Punk stepped back quickly.

     ‘No, you don’t have to.’

     ‘Come on,’ Colt ordered and grabbing their packs, took them to the side of the road and into a long stretch of forest. When he knew they couldn’t be detected from the roadside, he dropped the bags and turned to Punk.

     ‘Let me see,’ he demanded softly and Punk let out a long sigh before sitting down and removing his jacket and shirt. Colt walked behind him and immediately got a whiff of something festering. The bandage on Punk’s shoulder was a shade of yellow and was soaked through.

     Colt suddenly felt very cold.

     ‘How long has it been bothering you?’ Colt asked, his voice croaky.

     ‘A few days now,’ Punk replied.

     ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

     ‘I didn’t think it was serious.’

     ‘You didn’t think it was serious?’ Colt yelled. ‘Punk, it’s infected! And we’re out here in the open without any antibiotics.’ Punk went silent and clenched his jaw.

     Colt ran over to his pack and found the first aid kit the Widows had given him. Slapping on some gloves, he took the kit back over to Punk. Gingerly, he unwound the bandage, the smell beginning to choke him as he removed the gauze, which was drenched with pus. When he pulled the final pieces of dressing away, he hitched a breath.

     ‘How is it?’ Punk’s asked, scared of the answer.

     ‘Fuck,’ Colt muttered under his breath.

     Punk sighed with a wry smile. ‘That bad, huh?’

     The wound had been nasty enough when it was fresh but now it was a bubbling fester, shades of yellows and purples so deep they looked black. Several of Punk’s veins leading from the wound were now a dark, unnatural hue and the crispy mass on his skin was oozing milky discharge. Colt felt overwhelmingly sick to his stomach.

     ‘Look, I’m not gonna lie, this is really gonna hurt,’ Colt said as he rummaged around in the first aid kit.

     ‘What are you doing?’ Punk asked and turned as he saw Colt pull out a small bottle. ‘Colt, no, it’s too late for alcohol. That’s to prevent the infection. It won’t treat it now.’

     ‘It’s better than nothing,’ Colt protested as he laced some fresh cloth with the clear liquid.

     ‘Fucking hell,’ Punk cursed, seeing he was not going to change his friend’s mind and quickly bundled up the sleeve of his jacket and stuffed it into his mouth.

     ‘Here we go,’ Colt warned and in one swift move, brought the alcohol down. Punk felt like his shoulder was on fire and he let out a scream of pain, muffled by the fabric in his mouth. His teeth bit down hard, tearing the leather to shreds. Even as Colt pulled the cloth away, the pain was excruciating, as if he was being digested alive.

     ‘I’m sorry, buddy,’ Colt said, coming around to face his friend. ‘I had to try something.’ He was shocked to see Punk’s eyes red and watery, every contour of his face tensed up with agony. His skin had gone a pasty white as sweat poured down in streams from his brow. He could barely breath, let alone speak through the pain. ‘This is bad,’ Colt whispered.

     ‘What do we do?’ Punk gasped out, his face pleading. Colt had only ever seen his friend so desperate once before, the day he’d fractured his skull in the ring, and even then, he’d laughed out loud when he’d heard the doctor’s diagnosis. Now, there was no humour, no brave display of machismo; he knew he was in dire straits and he was scared.

     Colt couldn’t look at his friend and turned his face up to the sky. ‘I don’t know, buddy. I really don’t know.’ The pair sat in silence for a few minutes, both trying so hard to hold back their panic and emotion. ‘I should have seen the signs,’ Colt said, mentally kicking himself. ‘The throwing up, the exhaustion, the fever. I just thought it was from the beating, I never put two and two together.’

     ‘It’s not your fault,’ Punk shot back. ‘I don’t blame you.’

     ‘I blame myself,’ he said sadly.

     ‘I wasn’t even sure at first,’ Punk noted, but Colt sat staring up at the clouds, wracking his brain for a solution. ‘It might just heal on its own?’ Punk offered, optimistically.

     ‘Punk, you’ve seen all those guys who get staph infections from the matt. They don’t just get better. They have to be treated with special antibiotics and even then, it takes a lot of bed rest too.’ An idea clicked in Colt’s mind. ‘I’m going back to that house,’ he stated.

     ‘Why?’ Punk asked.

     ‘The place was left the way it was the day those people died,’ Colt explained. ‘If they had food in the cupboards, they’ll most likely have a medicine cabinet.’

     ‘It’s a long shot,’ Punk sighed.

     ‘It’s a shot,’ Colt corrected. He patted his dejected friend on his good shoulder. His skin was clammy. ‘I’ll set up camp and get you settled then I’ll go back. It should only take me a couple of hours. Will you be ok for that long?’

     ‘Yeah, I won’t go dying on you,’ Punk tried to joke but neither of them found it funny.

 

     Colt dashed off into the night, leaving Punk hidden among the trees (he chose not to light a fire in case it brought attention to his vulnerable friend) while, unseen, another figure scurried away from the scene.

     ‘Evening Seth,’ the large Samoan welcomed his two-tone haired friend back to their hidden campsite.

     ‘Brooks is alone,’ Seth barked out, ‘he’s caught some kind of infection and it’s really bad.’ He smiled wide as he gave his companions the news.

     ‘Hah,’ the dirty blonde said, ‘he’ll be weak and easy pickings. Let’s jump him now.’ He rubbed his knuckles together with glee.

     ‘Hold up,’ the larger man said, putting his hand out to stop his eager friends. ‘We don’t need to jump him now.’

     ‘What do you mean?’ Seth spat, ‘come on, Roman, Colton’s away. He’s vulnerable, let’s get him.’

     ‘Exactly,’ Roman replied, with a sneer across his face. ‘He’s in a bad way and it will only get worse. You really think his lovesick stalker is going to sit by and watch? Why force her from hiding, when she will come out of her own accord?’

     A sadistic smile widened on Seth’s face as he understood Roman’s plan and he let out a cruel cackle. ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘I’ll go back and keep watch.’ He turned on his heel and slipped away into the night.

     ‘Aw man,’ the blonde groaned, ‘and I was so looking forward to this. It’s been too long since I strung a man up by his toes and used him as a punching bag.’

     ‘And you will, Dean,’ Roman said, patting his companion on the shoulder. ‘You will, I promise.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody catch the significance of the date of The Event?


	12. Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 12 Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-12-cover-810480913?ga_submit_new=10%3A1566391409)

     It took Colt little time to reach the house and as he entered the same back door they had ran out of earlier, he suppressed a sudden wave of anxiety. The solitary building had been spooky enough during the day but in pitch-black night, it became a breathing cave of terror. He brought out a wind up torch, a present from Paige before they had parted from the Widows, and rummaged through each cupboard in the kitchen. He ransacked the entire room, pulling out drawers and tossing their contents on the floor, clawing through cupboards like a hungry bear frantically trying to find food. The once immaculate kitchen looked like a grenade had gone off in it by the time Colt was through.

     But he found nothing to help Punk.

     He let out a frustrated growl and rubbed his hand roughly through his hair. He stormed over to the dining room and emptied the crystal cabinet, smashed all the china from their shelves and splattered magazines over the floor. The living room followed suite and was soon awash with DVDs, books, puzzles and family games, all in a mass at his feet.

     Still nothing.

     He screwed his eyes shut on the realisation. He would have to look upstairs.

     He slowly eased his way up the steps, wincing each time the old wood creaked beneath his feet, as if, by some, chance, it would wake the deceased members of the household. The door to the master bedroom was still slightly ajar, but the scene of death was just out of sight. He almost felt an invisible force pulling him to that room again; an irrational need to confirm that he had not just imagined that sickening sight earlier, but he shook his head frantically and made his way to the room he knew was the bathroom.

     A cabinet hung above the sink and Colt smiled. This had to be it, it _had_ to be!

     As he reached up to open the door, he jumped at seeing a stranger suddenly appear right next to his face. Cursing loudly, he jumped back, falling against the opposite wall and knocking several shelves to the ground. He covered his face as it rained bath towels and toiletries around him, waiting for the first blow.

     But it never came.

     He looked up and noticed he was alone. But the stranger was still there, just as wide eyed and panicked as he had been, staring right back at him.

     ‘Jesus,’ he muttered under his breath and he slowly walked towards the mirrored door of the cabinet. The stranger’s face drew near and placed a hand on his cheek at the exact time Colt did. ‘Look at me,’ he exclaimed, captivated by his own reflection. It was no wonder he had not recognised his own face. It had been over a month and a half since he had set off from New Chicago and in that time, had never had the benefit of a mirror.

     He rubbed a hand over his face, which was now so gaunt he looked like a skull in the dim light of his torch. His cheeks were sunken in and large hollows lingered around his eyes, making them look unnaturally large in comparison. His once neatly cropped hair was overgrown with small curls tumbling down his brown and his chin was scruffy and unkempt. His neck and shoulders, at one time large and imposing, where more tautly muscled now and he suddenly realised how loose his jacket felt around the collar.

     ‘How did I get this way?’ he asked himself. If anything, despite the rationing, he had put on weight while staying in New Chicago, yet in such a short time, he was a shadow of his former self. It made him realise the amount of energy the pair of them were spending, walking for days on end, and the incredible effect it had on them both. Yet they were only eating enough to keep their bodies ticking over. Ironically, Colt felt as fit and healthy as he’d been in a long time, which only hammered home how sick Punk really was. He’d gone without a full meal for over a week and unless Colt could find a way to help him, he wouldn’t last much longer.

     With this thought in his head, he set his jaw and opened the cabinet and let out a huge sigh of relief on seeing the large collection of bottles and boxes inside. He picked each one up in turn and carefully read the label, throwing out anything useless and keeping ones they could use in the sink below. He found painkillers, cough medicine, indigestion tablets, inhalers, muscle gel, every kind of medicine except the one he needed most. He grit his teeth as the boxes on the shelf began to dwindle and he felt himself growing desperate.

     Coming to the last of the cabinet’s contents, he picked a flat white box up, which had a strange name he didn’t recognise. He looked at the prescription label and squinted in the dark as he read the information. He felt a sudden rush of pure joy as he finally read the word ‘antibiotic’ and he held it tightly to his chest and felt himself start to well up. It was a long shot, it was reckless optimism, it was clutching at straws.

     It was hope!

 

     Despite the constant sweating, Punk was shivering violently in his sleeping bag by the time Colt returned, ambling towards him through the skeletal trees, the box clutched so tightly in his hand it had made an imprint on his palm. He helped Punk to sit up and with shaking hands popped one of the pills from the packet and gave it to his friend. Punk swallowed it down with some water while Colt looked at him eagerly.

     ‘It’ll take days to show any effect,’ Punk warned him, ‘if it even works,’ he added under his breath.

     ‘It will,’ Colt said with conviction, ‘we have to stay optimistic. You tell me that all the time.’

     ‘PMA,’ Punk smiled weakly, raising his index finger to show the letters inked on the digit, ‘positive mental attitude. How can I argue with myself?’

     ‘That’s the spirit,’ Colt grinned. ‘It says here you have to take them twice a day, ok?’

     ‘Got it,’ Punk sighed, his eyelids growing heavy.

     ‘Go to sleep, buddy,’ Colt cooed, helping Punk ease himself onto his good shoulder and listened as his breathing fell into a steady rhythm. ‘Go to sleep.’

     The next morning, Punk looked like death warmed up and felt even worse. His body was slick from head to toe in sweat to the point that even his sleeping bag was soaked through. He started retching at the mere thought of food so Colt backed off and loaded him up with water bottles instead but the tattooed man’s stomach was cramping so bad that he was even struggling with liquids. He did, however, manage to swallow his pill and with sheer bloody mindedness alone, kept it down.

     He twiddled his thumbs patiently while he allowed Colt to change the fresh bandage he had put on his shoulder the night before. The wound was still festering but, after seeing the result of the alcohol the night before, Colt opted to wash it down with sanitized water this time before placing new bindings over it.

     Colt insisted they stay another night but Punk refused. They were too isolated for his liking and if his condition got any worse, there was no chance of finding help in their current surroundings. He studied the map and saw a highway to the West and suggested heading in that direction. His reasoning was that they might come across another party of Widows or passing group. Even though that party could turn out to be hostile, it was worth the risk. It was sound logic and Colt couldn’t think of anything to counter it.

     Colt stuffed as much of their supplies into his pack to make Punk’s lighter and more manageable for him. However, even Punk’s own body was wearing him down considerably now and he needed a hand to his feet. It took the last reserves of Punk’s strength to put on his jacket and pack and to start walking. His knee was still in constant pain and he followed blindly behind Colt, limping along in a zig-zag motion, his brow literally dripping the entire time. Colt didn’t even need to look behind him to know where Punk was; his laboured, raspy breathing was a dead giveaway.

     They struggled along at a snail’s pace. Even more than an hour later, Colt could look back and see their old campsite in the near distance. They were ascending a hill and even thought it wasn’t overly steep, the extra strain was pushing Punk over the edge. He consistently had to stop and catch his breath and the pain he was feeling was etched across his face.

     He managed another hour, a goliath achievement, before he asked to stop for a rest. He finished off another water bottle as he sat on a rock, panting as if he had run a marathon. Colt watched his friend’s suffering with a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t believe how quickly the infection was turning really nasty. It was hard to believe that the poor soul before him, almost too weak to raise a bottle of water to his lips, was the same friend who had fought the Vipers with such ferocity a mere week or two ago.

     ‘You good to go?’ he asked after a while, when Punk’s breathing slowed back down.

     ‘Yeah,’ he replied, his words soft and slightly slurred. ‘They’re not really gonna take my boots, are they?’ He turned towards Colt with a glazed yet deadly serious look.

     ‘Uh, no?’ Colt said back, confused.

     ‘Good, cause I need them for Thanksgiving,’ he murmured. Unbeknownst to Colt, Punk had been having fever dreams in the night, and in his zombie like state right now, he was getting muddled between reality and delirium. Colt could tell something was really wrong though and walked over to Punk.

     ‘Want me to take your pack?’ he asked, offering a hand. Punk looked at Colt’s outstretched arm and thought about it. He gave a sigh and nodded before handing one of the straps over to his best friend. Colt hoisted the lighter pack onto his front before placing his own onto his back. It weighed a ton and he could feel his back groaning in agony but he didn’t care. He had to do what it took, for Punk’s sake.

    ‘Ready?’ he asked and Punk nodded. Colt pulled him to his feet and he started off, his friend lumbering after him as normal. ‘Look man, we’re almost at the top. It’ll be easier once we-‘

     He heard a loud smack behind him and turned sharply to find Punk lying flat out on the ground. ‘PUNK!’ he yelled, dropping the packs and rushing to his friend’s side. Punk was completely out cold and even when Colt lightly slapped his cheek to wake him, he didn’t respond. ‘Punkers, come on, buddy, wake up,’ Colt said, shaking Punk’s still body frantically. He reached over and grabbed Punk’s discarded bottle and splashed water over Punk’s face. Instantly, Punk began to stir. ‘Oh thank God,’ Colt’s whole body shook with relief.

     ‘Stop… slappin’… me,’ Punk muttered before going under again. Colt looked around them. They were high up on the hill now and for miles around there was nothing but fields full of dirt and masses of dead trees. He felt himself start to choke up so he breathed in deep, releasing his breath in stutters.

     ‘What am I gonna do?’ he said to the wind.

 

     Clearly seeing that they would get no further, Colt wrapped Punk up in his sleeping bag, his jacket bundled up and placed under his head as a crude pillow, and lit a fire. He watched as Punk zoned in and out of consciousness. When he was asleep he was in such a deep slumber that Colt had to check he was still breathing. When he was awake, he tossed and turned, murmuring nonsense but keeping his eyes shut the entire time.

     Colt couldn’t look at him anymore, the guilt of seeing his best friend this way taking over, and he turned away, walking through the bare trees until he found a quiet, secluded spot. He sat on the ground, embraced on both sides by large tree roots and he brought his knees up to his chest, his forehead sinking onto his kneecaps and his fingers laced over the back of his head. He was in a safe cocoon, forcing himself away from the grim reality he was facing.

     ‘It’s just not fair,’ he said aloud to himself. ‘I just got my best friend back and now he’s going to be taken away from me again.’ He stopped to clench his lips shut as tears threatened to fall from his eyes. ‘It’s so fucking _shit!’_ He paused after yelling to the ground and the sound of his breathing filled the air. He sighed and closed his eyes. His lips parted and he softly began to pray.

     He had always been proud to be Jewish but he had not always adhered to his faith’s rules. He constantly worked on the Sabbath, was known to love bacon on his pancakes and rarely, if ever, prayed. Yet, in his time of need, he turned to the religion of his heritage to try and find comfort. He sat, crouched down like a humble beggar, desperately asking for help, for hope and for forgiveness.

     ‘Is it that bad?’ The voice pulled him from his meditation and he sprung his head up.

     ‘Jesus!’ he yelled on seeing the strange figure sitting across the clearing from him.

     ‘Flattering, but no,’ Luci grinned back at Colt.

     ‘What are you doing here, Lu?’ Colt asked, clearly annoyed with the interruption.

     ‘I saw what happened to Punk earlier,’ Luci explained. ‘What are you going to do?’

     It put Colt on the spot and he was lost for words. ‘I… I don’t know.’

     ‘Not good enough!’ Luci shot back. ‘If you don’t act soon, he’s gonna die.’

     ‘You don’t think I know that?’ Colt yelled back. ‘Why the fuck do you think I’m out here, on my knees, praying for something, _anything_ , to save him?’

     ‘I think you’re wallowing in self pity,’ she shrugged and her words stung, mainly because they were true. ‘He needs action, not pretty sentiments.’

     ‘I got him antibiotic tablets but…’ he trailed off, hearing how ridiculous he sounded.

     ‘But it’s too far gone for that isn’t it?’ Luci finished and Colt nodded, silently.

     ‘I need your help,’ he admitted with his head bowed. ‘I can’t do this on my own.’

     ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ Luci smirked. ‘First thing’s first, we need to try and break his fever. There’s a pond at the top of this hill. We can sit him in the water until he cools down. It’s not ideal but it’ll do. We need to get him to a state where he’s able to travel again.’

     ‘Where we taking him? The highway?’

     ‘No, there’s a town about 2-3 days walk from here. It has its own hospital. We’ll find everything we need to save him there, so long as it’s not been picked clean by raiders.’

     ‘2-3 days?’ Colt asked with wide eyes. ‘He can’t walk that far, even if we do break his fever.’

     ‘We’ll take a pack each and have Punk lean on us. It’ll be slow going but it’s do-able.’

     ‘Can’t you just go to the town and come back with the medicine?’

     ‘I said 2-3 days to get there, which means 2-3 days to get back. Punk doesn’t have 6 days!’

     Colt rubbed his hands through his hair. ‘I’m lost, Lu,’ he sighed. He pursed his lips and sniffed, bringing his eyes up to meet hers. They were watery and glistening. ‘I can’t… I can’t lose him. I’ll be on my own. I’ll have lost both of my best friends and it was all my fault.’

     He watched as Luci stood up and walked over, crouching down in front of him. Her hand reached out like a whip and slapped him across the cheek. ‘Fucking snap out of it!’ she growled. ‘Your pity party is not going to save his life.’

     Colt sat stunned for a few seconds, rubbing his cheek. ‘You’re right,’ he whispered. ‘I deserved that.’

     ‘Come on then,’ she said, jumping to her feet and they both made their way back to the camp. Punk was in a fitful state when they returned, tossing and turning in his sleeping bag and muttering out loud. Luci, admittedly, was shocked on seeing his condition up close. She knelt down beside him as he jerked around, watching his tattooed fingers twitching violently and his eyes rolling wild beneath his eyelids. His skin was now a shade of grey, except for the bags under his eyes, which were more pronounced that usual, and were a shade of deep pink.

     She placed a hand to his forehead and grit her teeth. His fever was worse than she initially thought. She knew this was a stab in the dark but hopefully it hit its target.

     ‘Take the packs,’ she ordered Colt and he watched in amazement as she heaved Punk onto her shoulders. Punk, even in his current state, had to weigh over 200lbs and although Luci was not exactly short, she was still lean. Yet she lifted him up, sleeping bag and all, as if he weighed no more than a feather and darted off up the hill. Colt had to run to keep up with her as they made their way up the slope. It took them around half an hour yet Luci was barely out of breath when they reached the pond near the summit. It was a small shallow pool of fresh, clean water, hidden in a sheltered cove and fit their purpose perfectly.

     ‘Help me undress him,’ Luci ordered and together, they stripped Punk down to his underwear and slipped him, feet first into the pond, making sure to keep his shoulders above the waterline, just to be on the safe side. Punk had enough self-awareness to react as his fiery body hit the cold water and he let out a small gasp yet never opened his eyes once. They lay him on his front, his shoulders, head and arms out of the water and anchoring him to the shore. After his initial reaction, he settled down and fell back into a deep sleep.

     ‘What now?’ Colt asked.

     ‘We wait,’ Luci replied.

     Colt set up a small fire, making sure not to have it too close to Punk as it would defeat the purpose. He cooked a meager meal and brought a plate over to Luci, who had not left Punk’s side since they had arrived.

     ‘Thanks,’ she said as she took the plate from him and began to tuck in.

     ‘How’s he holding up?’ he asked, looking down at his prone friend.

     ‘He’s been under for a while now,’ Luci noted, ‘but I’m taking that as a good sign.’

     ‘It’s all about PMA,’ Colt said.

     ‘What’s that?’

     ‘Positive mental attitude. Punk says it all the time, even has the shirt.’ He smirked.

     ‘Cute, but not really my thing.’ She looked at up Colt. ‘You look like Frankenstein’s monster _before_ he was brought to life,’

     ‘Gee thanks,’ Colt shot back, grumpily.

     ‘Go get some sleep,’ she ordered.

     ‘Not until I know he’s safe.’

     ‘I’m with him, he’s safe. I know you haven’t slept in three days. We’ve got a lot of walking ahead of us so get rested or you’re no use to me, or him.’

     ‘Fine,’ Colt said, too forcefully. He instantly softened his tone. ‘Thanks by the way. I couldn’t have done this without you, Lu.’

     ‘Thank me by getting some sleep,’ she shot back and Colt gave a wry smile.

     ‘You’re still such an asshole,’ he chuckled and walked away.

    

   At some point in the night, Colt woke with a start. His body was exhausted but his mind would not switch off. He was worrying about Punk and was really uncomfortable with having his friend’s stalker and New Chicago’s resident unstable killer watching over him. He rolled onto his side and the scene before him amazed him.

     The fire had dwindled down and was bathing the small alcove in radiant shades of burnt yellows and warm oranges. In contrast, the shadows appeared soft blue, instead of their usual dull grey. Framed by this lulling pallet was Luci, sitting cross-legged right next to Punk, looking like a sweet angel of mercy watching over his fallen friend. He had never seen her looking so elegant and serene, as she scooped up handfuls of cold water and gently stroked her wet hand over Punk’s hair. She showed the same care to his arms and good shoulder, making sure all of his body felt the healing effects of the pool. Every inch of him was dripping softly with the fresh, cool water and he looked so peaceful that Colt felt instantly at ease.

     He heard a strange murmur and realised that Luci was whispering under her breath.

     ‘..you came back to me, even after all this time, when I was completely lost in the darkness without you. You came back and you found me, and that day, I made a promise, that I will never let you go again.’ She picked up another handful of water and brought her palm gently over the smooth curve of Punk’s head, stroking his dark brown hair softly as it lay flat to his scalp. ‘I stand by that promise, but you must too. You came back and you can’t leave me to hurt again. Please, please stay with me and I will be yours truly, forever and for always.’

     Colt understood that the gentle words she was saying was a private conversation and he rolled over, facing away from the tranquil moment. His brain finally found the same ease and he fell back into slumber.

 

     The next morning, Colt stirred groggily from his sleep. He felt refreshed and ready for the journey ahead.

     ‘Hey Scotty,’ Luci’s voice greeted him from the side of the pond.

     ‘Hey Lulu,’ he shot back.

     ‘You know I hate Lulu, asshole.’

     ‘And you know I hate Scotty.’

     ‘Then let’s call it a stalemate, _Scotty!’_ They smirked at each other as Colt got to his feet. ‘Good news, our patient has finally decided to wake up.’

     ‘What, really?’ Colt was over like a shot and sure enough, Punk’s eyes were open, although still heavy.

     ‘Hey Colt Cabana, how you doin’?’ he smiled, weakly.

     ‘You son of a bitch!’ Colt felt his eyes moisten and he would have hugged the daylights out of Punk if he could. ‘How you feeling, buddy?’

     ‘Numb,’ Punk said, simply, as Colt took a seat next to him. Luci got up and walked away, leaving the two with some privacy. ‘So, why is Luci here?’

     ‘It’s thanks to her that you’re still alive,’ Colt said, sternly. ‘She suggested bringing you up here to help break your fever and she watched over you like a hawk all night.’

     ‘That girl’s making a habit out of saving my life,’ Punk said, shaking his head, softly.

     ‘You’re not out of the woods yet,’ Colt warned him. ‘We’ve broken your fever for now, but your wound’s still infected. Luci says there’s a town with a hospital 2-3 days journey from here. We’re all going to walk there, together.’

     Punk remained silent and nodded his head. Colt could see the doubt in his eyes. ‘Alright,’ he finally replied. ‘I don’t see any other way.’

     ‘Oh, take your medication before we forget,’ Colt said, grabbing his pack and starting to rummage around for the pills.

     ‘Here,’ Luci appeared out of nowhere, brandishing the packet in her palm.

     ‘Thanks,’ Colt said and passed a pill and water to Punk. ‘I’m sorry, I never gave you one last night.’

     ‘I did,’ Luci interjected again. ‘Good thing I’m here Colt. You suck at this nursing thing.’

     ‘What?’ Colt asked, stung. ‘Your bedside manner is awful! You call everybody asshole.’

     ‘I called _you_ an asshole, asshole,’ she corrected. ‘I never once called my patient names, did I, Punk?’

     ‘Nope,’ Punk agreed.

     ‘Don’t you dare take her side,’ Colt warned but Punk only offered a small grin.

     After having a little breakfast (Punk was given water laced with sugar from Luci’s supplies to keep his strength up) and washing and binding Punk’s wound, the three set out for the town. Despite the progress he had made overnight, Punk was still in a very bad shape. He could barely stand on his own two feet and relied heavily on his companions on either side of him. Colt was sweating after a while, struggling with a heavy pack on his back as well as half the weight of his friend, but as he looked over to Luci who marched on without any fuss, he put his complaints behind him and focused solely on helping Punk.

     Luci had opted to carry Punk on his left side, where both his bad knee and infected shoulder were. Colt had protested this but in the end it proved the right decision. He didn’t know what kind of strange magic the women possessed but she moved fluidly without so much as a stumble and her grip on Punk was vice-like. She would never let him fall and kept her own movement to a minimum to prevent him from feeling any more pain. It was the first time he had seen such compassion from the women he had known since the Event, and he wondered what it was about his friend that brought out this side of her. True, she had saved Punk’s (and Colt’s) life the night Cliff had been murdered and she had also warned them about the Vipers, but this was a whole different level. He knew in his heart that he should never trust her yet it was so difficult not to when it was crystal clear she would lay down her life for Punk if needs be.

     As they meandered down the hill, surrounded on either side by thick swathes of dying trees trunks, they began to hear whispers ghosting through the trees. The two new companions stopped sharply, Punk hanging motionless between them.

     ‘ _Sierra, hotel, indigo, echo, lima, delta_ ,’ the voices hissed around them from all sides over and over again. ‘ _Sierra, hotel, indigo, echo, lima, delta, sierra, hotel, indigo, echo, lima, delta.’_ The colour drained from Colt’s face as he turned to Luci who looked equally alarmed.

     ‘No, no, this can’t be happening,’ Colt stuttered, pale as a sheet.

     ‘Bischoff’s released the hounds,’ Luci gritted her teeth.

     ‘Why now? Why the fuck is this happening now?’ Colt asked, desperation in his voice.

     ‘Colt, drop your pack and take him,’ Luci ordered under her breath, passing the barely conscious Punk over to Colt. ‘When I say run, you better fucking run.’ She pulled her knife out and held it tightly in her fist, ready for the attack.

     Slowly, three figures emerged around them as if they had materialised out of the darkness itself. They were surrounded and the fear was clear on both Colt and Luci’s faces but they forced their terror down and faced their enemy.

     Luci scanned each face, recognising in turn, the large, imposing Roman Reigns, the lean, athletic Seth Rollins and the wiry, unhinged Dean Ambrose, his dirty blonde hair staggering over his face. She wound her body up, waiting for the right moment to strike, keeping a close eye on her surroundings.

     ‘At last, you’ve joined the party, Luci,’ Seth smiled at her, all three men drawing every closer to the vulnerable group. ‘Now, the fun can-‘

     Luci sprang forward like a wild lioness and slashed out with her knife. She knocked Seth down to the ground and as she pinned him beneath her she turned back to Colt. ‘RUN!’

     Colt didn’t need a second telling and bolted through the clearing Luci had created by taking out Seth. She heard a roar of voices and a mad scuffle in the dirt but didn’t look back once. Punk was out cold on his shoulders and his limp body threated to fall from his back but he grabbed onto his friend’s limbs like his life depended on it (which it did!) and kept running through the dark woods. His face was red and slicked with sweat and his body was screaming out in pain but he shook the agony off and kept on sprinting. The blood was pounding so loudly in his skull he could feel his very skin pulsing, deafened by the drums smashing in his ears.

     He jerked to the side on seeing a large, bulky figure run up alongside him but found it to only be Luci, carrying both of their packs. He turned to look at her and saw she was bleeding from her lip.

     ‘Don’t look at me, keep running!’ she yelled over at him, not looking at him once as they dashed over the hard packed earth and dodged fallen logs and low hanging tree branches. They leapt over the tangled roots of a fallen oak but only noticed the drop too late. Luci manage to control her fall and rolled down the steep hill with her arms and legs safely tucked in. Colt, on the other hand, landed awkwardly on his ankle and his body buckled. He tumbled down the slope, battering against the unforgiving ground. Punk fell from his shoulders and followed him down the drop. All three landed with a nasty bump at the bottom. Luci was up immediately and ran over to check on Punk who had been woken up by the nasty fall. He groaned, reaching weakly for his shoulder as he hissed with pain. They had no time to recover from their nasty plummet though as she spied three figures descend down the slope above them.

     ‘COLT!’ Luci screamed as she hoisted Punk onto her shoulders.

     ‘Awww, that fuckin’ sucked,’ Colt moaned, stumbling to his feet. He let out a sharp hiss of pain as he leant on his ankle.

     ‘They’re coming!’ Luci cried with urgency, snapping him back to attention. ‘Grab the packs!’

     In an instant, Colt had forgotten all about his bad ankle, and grabbing both bags, he chased after Luci who was already several feet away, Punk draped over her shoulders. She flew through the woods like an arrow sprung from a bow, swift, straight and true. Colt was barely managing to keep up with her as he constantly lost his footing but he found the energy he needed to follow her through the shadows.

     Behind them, the Shield were in hot pursuit, all three men sadistically enjoying the chase. Dean had a large smirk on his face, anticipating the pain he would be inflicting soon enough. Seth flew on ahead, his feet barely leaving a print on the ground as he ghosted through the trees. Roman took up the rear, pounding the earth like a rhino, bursting his way through the undergrowth like an unstoppable machine.

     Colt could hear his own breath rasping in his ears and his chest was on fire but to stop would be his demise so he pushed himself on. He knew he wouldn’t be able to last much longer though and sheer panic began to set in. He looked ahead and saw Luci prancing like a deer through the forest with Punk clinging to her shoulders. If she was the deer, then he was the fox, ruthlessly being chased by the hounds until his body gave in and they could make the killing blow. He knitted his eyebrows and set his jaw. He wasn’t going to make it, he realised in the cruel light of day, but if he was going down, he was taking the Shield down with him.

     He was just about to turn around when both him and Luci heard a loud cry to their right. They stopped and saw a middle aged man with a rifle in his hands. They froze on seeing the strange apparition in the shadows but just as quickly as he appeared he turned around and fired his rifle towards the members of the Shield and they scattered, disappearing on every side into the darkness.

     ‘Come with me, quickly,’ the man said and the two companions could see no other choice. They ran after the older man through the woods towards a hill. He turned and fired his rifle once more before racing up the hill, Colt and Luci right behind him. ‘Quick,’ he said, pointing to a hole in the ground and Colt realised there were steps leading deep into the hillside. Acting on instinct, as if he were in a dream, Colt scuttled down the steps, reaching up and grabbing Punk’s limp body from Luci before she followed. Finally, their strange new ally entered the tunnel, closing the concealed door above him and locking it tight.


	13. The Hounds of Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phew, the action's been a bit intense so here's some recovering-Punk cuteness before the drama (inevitably) starts up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 13 Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-13-cover-812014942?ga_submit_new=10%3A1567529668)

     When Punk woke up, he became aware of a strange buzzing noise that droned around him. It was a strangely familiar yet distant sound that he couldn’t quite place. He managed to open one heavy eyelid and instantly spotted a figure sitting next to him.

     ‘Luci?’ he asked and she looked up from the book she was reading and smiled.

     ‘Morning, Sleeping Beauty,’ she grinned, putting her book down.

     ‘Where’s Colt?’ he asked weakly, not seeing his friend.

     ‘He’s nearby,’ she assured him, feeling his forehead. ‘He’s been glued to your side ever since we got here. I forced him to go get some rest on the threat of a severe beat down. How are you feeling?’

     ‘Dazed,’ Punk replied. He tried to sit up but Luci placed her hand gently on his bare chest and forced him back down.

     ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ she warned him. ‘Take it easy, we’ve got time.’

     ‘How long was I out?’ he asked in alarm.

     ‘Three days,’ Luci replied and Punk ran his hand over his face in shock. ‘The rest has done you good though. You don’t look so gross anymore.’

     ‘Where am I?’ he asked, looking around the strange surroundings. It was a small room with walls reinforced with sheet metal. He found himself lying on a gurney while Luci sat on a metal stool at his side.

     ‘I’ll explain later, when you’re feeling a bit better,’ Luci started but felt Punk grip her wrist tightly.

     ‘Tell me,’ he said, his eyebrows flat and his tone serious.

     Luci paused for a moment and looked down at Punk, wrestling with her thoughts. ‘What do you remember?’ she finally asked.

     ‘I… collapsed,’ Punk said, screwing his eyes shut to help him concentrate. ‘On the hillside. It gets hazy,’ he admitted, ‘I thought I was awake but when I think about it, nothing around me was making any sense. I remember this calmness, a sense of peace and woke up in the pool with you sitting beside me.’ Luci nodded and encouraged him to continue. ‘I remember hearing yelling in the distance and loud footsteps. I could see the ground, always the ground and at one point, I felt like I was flying but it hurt, really hurt.’ He shook his head and sighed loudly through his nose. ‘None of this makes any fucking sense,’ he huffed in frustration.

     ‘You were really sick,’ Luci pointed out. ‘Colt had found you some antibiotic pills but it was too late for that. Fortunately Mason, had some medical supplies that he stole from a hospital.’ She motioned to Punk’s left side and he finally noticed an IV drip attached to his arm. ‘Penicillin,’ she explained. ‘It’s taken a while but it’s working really well.’

     ‘Mason?’ Punk asked, confused. This was all too much to take in at once.

     ‘The guy who built this bunker,’ Luci explained. ‘He’s fucking clever too. I mean, bat-crap crazy, yeah, but clever. He’s hooked the place up to this old wind farm so he’s still getting power.’ Punk’s eyes shot open. That strange buzzing noise! It was the sound of electric lights above him. It had only been a few months since he had left Canada yet already that noise was so alien to him. ‘He’s also the one that treated your infection. We’re all alive because of him.’

     Luci could see the stress that all this sudden information was causing him and she couldn’t blame him. He had been out of it for days and so much had happened in that time – she hadn’t even mentioned their altercation with the Shield. She and Colt had decided to leave that part out until he had recovered more. She decided to change the subject to try and calm him down.

     ‘I couldn’t help but admire your tattoos while you were under,’ she said. ‘That one is special, isn’t it?’ Punk looked at her blankly. ‘The one behind your ear, I mean?’

     Punk lifted his good arm and felt the soft skin behind his left ear, emblazoned with the number 31 and four stars.  

     ‘Yeah, it’s special,’ he sighed, sadly. He wasn’t going to explain why until he saw Luci’s curious face and seeing as she had saved his life, twice, he felt he owed it to her to be cordial. ‘It represents my three sisters and brother,’ he told her, and instantly his voice broke. ‘We all have it - _had_ it…’

     Luci quickly picked up on his meaning and changed the subject.

     ‘You _really_ like pancakes, huh?’ she teased, placing her finger on the small tattoo above the spider web on his right elbow.

     ‘Pancakes are awesome, you don’t like pancakes?’ he shot back, looking at her as if she had just sprouted another head. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

     ‘I like pancakes as much as the next person,’ Luci shrugged, finding his passionately defensive response adorable. ‘Just not enough to get a goddamn tattoo of them! I mean, I have coriander on almost everything but I wouldn’t have a tattoo of fucking coriander on my ass cheek. It’s not like that’s your only food tattoo either, look.’ She placed her finger on each one in turn. ‘Pizza, ice cream… a cup cake?’ she looked at him with an arched brow and for the first time in days, he smiled broadly. ‘Seriously, a cup cake?’

     ‘I like cup cakes,’ he laughed, shrugging slightly.

     ‘You’re just a little fat kid deep down, aren’t you?’ she teased and he let out a laugh. It warmed her heart to see him brighten up.

     ‘You know,’ he started, ‘I used to complain every day that I was fat.’

     ‘Shut up!’ scolded Luci.

     ‘Seriously, ask Colt,’ Punk shook his head, wryly. ‘Man, I would give anything to be ‘fat’ again.’ He said ‘fat’ using his fingers as inverted commas. ‘I miss cupcakes, cookie fudge ice cream, pancakes dripping with syrup in the morning,’ His mouth started to water at the thought. ‘And damn, do I miss a real Chicago pie. I’ll probably never have another one ever again.’ He looked over to Luci who was staring at him strangely. ‘What?’ he asked.

     ‘Nothing,’ Luci said back flatly but Punk could see conspiring going on behind those dark brown, almost black, eyes.

     ‘LU! You were meant to come tell me as soon as he was up!’ Colt’s voice from the door snapped them back to the reality.

     ‘Your doting wife’s here,’ she smirked under her breath to Punk who let out a small laugh.

     The excited former wrestler was across the room in a blur and grabbed his best friend in a gruelling bear hug. ‘I was so worried about you, buddy,’ he beamed, excitedly.

   ‘Colt... can’t…breath…’ Punk choked out through his friend’s embrace.

   ‘Whoops, sorry,’ Colt laughed and released his friend who started to lightly cough. ‘You’re looking good,’ he noted. ‘That IV thing’s done the trick. That was Mason’s idea – he’s pretty awesome!’

     ‘I keep hearing about this Mason guy,’ Punk said. ‘Where is he?’

     ‘You’ll meet him soon enough,’ Colt reassured his friend as Punk realised that Luci was gone. ‘Just focus on getting better.’

     ‘Sure sure,’ he said, absentmindedly, wondering what the platinum blonde was up to.

     ‘You really had me worried back there,’ Colt admitted, unable to wipe the smile from his face. ‘I really thought it was the end.’

     ‘So did I,’ Punk confessed. ‘As soon as you looked at my shoulder, I thought I was gonna die. The infection really took hold quickly, huh?’

     ‘Don’t ever do that to me again,’ Colt said, seriously. ‘Don’t ever scare me like that again.’

     ‘I promise,’ Punk said.

     From outside the doorway, Luci listened to the two friends catch up after the scary past couple of days. She gave a small smile and walked down the corridor of the underground bunker until she found Mason, their mysterious saviour in a small, dark room.

     ‘Hey,’ she said and the older man turned around. He smiled warmly, his face creasing with wrinkles. He had a flat, bald head with tufts of silver hair protruding from the sides and grey whiskers growing along his jawline. He was short and stocky, wearing a plaid shirt and jeans.

     ‘How is the patient?’ he asked in his smooth Kentucky accent.

     ‘He’s awake and looking good,’ Luci told him, ‘thanks to you.’

     ‘I keep telling you, don’t thank me,’ he waved her comment off, ‘it’s what any good Christian would do. I’m just pleased to hear he’s recovering well.’ He turned around and faced the wall before him where several monitors shone through the darkness. Luci looked up at the screens and pursed her lips.

     ‘They still there?’ she asked, tension evident in her voice.

     ‘Yup,’ Mason replied. ‘They aint stupid. They know you didn’t just sprout wings and fly off like a bunch of geese. They know you’re around here somewhere and they’re not leaving ‘til they find y’all.’

     ‘We can’t stay down here forever,’ Luci huffed, feeling herself caged in like an animal.

     ‘They’ll run out of food soon, you’ll see,’ Mason promised her. ‘In the meantime, we’ll get your friend’s strength back up. He’ll be as fit as a fiddle before you know it.’

     Luci didn’t reply but just stared at the screen, showing three men, clad in black gear, sitting around a fire.

 

     A day later and Punk was fit enough to sit upright, leaning on a cluster of pillows. Colt had left him some books to occupy his time but he was still going stir-crazy in his sick bed. As he reread the same sentence for what seemed the thirtieth time, he suddenly became aware of an incredible scent wafting into his room. He raised his head and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and smiling at the sweet smell.

     He snapped his book shut and placed it down. With his palms on either side of him, he pulled himself upright. He felt the familiar dull throb in his shoulder and screwed his eyes shut, breathing out through the pain. He focused on his legs next and slowly brought them over until they were dangling off the side of his bed. It was the most he had moved by himself in days and he stopped to take a breath.

     ‘Ok, here goes,’ he encouraged himself, and with one large hand gripping the frame holding his IV drip and the other on the edge of the bed, he eased himself down onto his feet. He nearly collapsed, his body feeling as heavy as lead, but somehow he managed to keep himself upright. Using the IV frame as support, he shuffled towards the door and stepped into the corridor. The smell became stronger and it made his mouth water. He felt a grumble from his stomach and realised he was starving. He had managed a small bowl of soup last night and this morning but now he was craving something more solid. It was such a relief for him to finally feel hungry again.

     He struggled down the poorly lit corridor, decorated similarly to his sick room with sheet metal lining the walls. He took in his surroundings and thought how bizarre it was to be underground. The lights buzzed above him and the sound of plumbing trembled on either side. He felt as if he was in some cheesy horror movie and monsters would come scurrying along the walls any second.

     There was a bright light at the end of the corridor, shining through a partially open door. With heavy feet, he walked up to the door and pushed it open, finding himself in a large common room. At one end there stood a round, metal table and a couple of chairs while at the other were rows and rows of supplies, reaching far back into shadows. He also found Luci, busy at a crude, homemade gas stove. She noticed him come in, clad only in a pair of borrowed shorts and smirked.

     ‘Well, well, look who’s on his feet,’ she beamed, placing her hands on her hips.

     ‘What is that smell?’ he asked, enthusiastically, licking his lips as he hobbled closer. Luci laughed loudly and came out from behind the stove.

     ‘You really are a fat kid inside, aren’t you,’ she teased, turning him away from the stove and guiding him to the table on the opposite side of the room. He looked over his shoulder sadly and Luci swore he made a whining noise like a lost puppy. ‘Oh don’t do that,’ she scolded. ‘It will be ready soon. Just sit and wait, ok.’

     ‘But I’m really hungry,’ Punk pouted, looking so pathetic that Luci had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She pulled out a chair and pushed gently on his shoulders until he plonked down on the seat.

     ‘Soon,’ she promised, pointing her finger at him and he nodded in defeat, wiping his mouth with anticipation. ‘In the meantime, here.’ Punk felt warm fabric engulf his shoulders and looking down, he saw his old hoodie that he’d lost during the battle with the Vipers. ‘I had to give it back some time,’ Luci sighed, sadly. ‘Oh and this too,’ she placed his lead pipe on the table in front of him, ‘how many times do I have to return this to you?’

     ‘Last time, I promise,’ he said, a smile crawling up the side of his mouth. ‘Where’s Colt and that Mason guy?’

     ‘Reinforcing the entrances to the bunker,’ she said, returning to her position behind the stove. ‘Gotta earn our keep somehow.’

     ‘This place is crazy,’ he said, looking around the room. ‘How much food does this guy have?’

     ‘Enough to last him decades, apparently. He’d been building this bunker and hoarding supplies for twenty years so when the Event hit, he was more than ready.’

     ‘Surprised he doesn’t tell everybody ‘I told you so’,’ Punk snorted.

     ‘Oh, he does,’ Luci retorted. ‘Every day as a matter of fact.’

     Punk laughed. ‘It’s a good thing we found him when we did. If we hadn’t, I would be-‘

     ‘No point dwelling on that,’ Luci interrupted him as she poked the pan with a spatula. ‘I reckon we can take you off the drip tonight.’ Punk looked down at his bare arm and saw the IV sticking out from under a small bandage. He shrugged his shoulders and reached for the cannula.

     ‘Uh-uh,’ Luci scolded, slapping his hand away.

     ‘Ow,’ Punk moaned, sucking on his fingers but his face changed from one of annoyance to one of pure bewilderment as Luci placed a plate of steaming food in front of him. ‘Is that-‘

     ‘I don’t know how to make Chicago pizza pie,’ Luci shrugged, ‘but with a bit of creativity I can concoct something resembling pancakes.’

     ‘I…I…’ for once, Punk was lost for words.

     ‘Less talking, more eating,’ Luci said, passing him a fork, which he took eagerly but just as he was about to tuck in she put her hand out. ‘Small bites and chew slowly,’ she warned in a scarily stern tone. ‘I don’t want my hard work to go to waste, we clear?’

     ‘Crystal,’ Punk said, not taking his eyes from the stack of pancakes before him dripping with syrup. He used his fork to break off a small chunk and placed the fluffy piece in his mouth. He closed his eyes and let out a groan of joy as he munched on the warm pancake, the sweet flavours dancing on his tongue. It wasn’t quite what he was used to before but in that moment, after all these long, hard months of eating ground tinned meat and bland, cold mush, this was the finest meal in the world. He was in ecstasy, he had reached Nirvana, forget drugs; _this_ was a true high.

     ‘Do you want some alone time with the pancakes?’ Luci joked but Punk didn’t even open his eyes.

     ‘Yes!’ he said, seriously and Luci lightly slapped him round the back of the head. He opened his eyes with a snort and rubbed his head, smirking cheekily. He took another bite, feeling a warm happiness in the pit of his stomach while Luci sat next to him at the table with her own plateful.

     ‘So you didn’t feel the need to give me a haircut this time?’ Punk teased, chomping on another mouthful.

     ‘What did I tell you about eating slowly,’ she warned and he took heed. ‘No, not this time. It grows fast though,’ she noted, looking at the short, brown mop on his head. He scrubbed his hand through it, leaving large tufts jutting up awkwardly.

     ‘It has been a while,’ he pointed out and she rolled her eyes with a laugh at the ridiculous sight before her. ‘Seriously though, what was up with that? You kinda freaked me out, leaning over me while I was out cold with a pair of scissors like something from an old slasher flick.’

     ‘You look better with short hair,’ she shrugged. ‘Simple as that.’ Having enough, she reached over and flattened the tufts back down. He wasn’t sure why but Punk felt a familiar sensation which instantly made him feel at ease. ‘Can you do me a favour,’ Luci asked, ‘can you keep it short?’

     ‘You’ve saved my life twice,’ he replied. ‘I’ll do anything you want.’

     ‘Fuck me on this table,’ she said quickly and Punk almost spat out his mouthful of pancake, making her throw her head back and laugh. ‘Just kidding,’ she yelled with glee, banging her fist on the table while Punk glared at her. ‘You left yourself totally open there!’

     ‘Colt’s right, you are an asshole,’ he sulked, while she wiped tears away from her eyes.

     ‘What was that? Why was I right?’ Colt asked, entering the room with Mason behind him.

     ‘I’m an asshole,’ Luci explained through bouts of laughter.

     ‘Oh yeah, I knew that already,’ Colt said, walking over to the table. ‘Oh… my god! Is that-?’

     ‘There’s some on the stove for you both,’ Luci jabbed her thumb behind her and the two men dashed over to help themselves.

     ‘They any good?’ Colt called over to Punk.

     ‘Meh,’ Punk replied, to which Luci raised her fork and brandished it like a knife. ‘Ok, fine, they’re incredible!’

     ‘Let me tell you, this girl can cook,’ Colt said, plating up his share of the pancakes. ‘You missed the most amazing meal last night. Were you a chef or something, Lu?’

     ‘Hah,’ Luci let out a loud laugh, ‘not even close. I just always had an interest in cooking, that’s all.’

     ‘Did she show you her special bag?’ Colt asked Punk

     ‘No,’ Punk said slowly and turned to Luci with a broad smile on his face.

     ‘You know Scotty, I do have a reputation to uphold,’ Luci said with a sinister smirk on her face. ‘You keep spreading nasty rumours, I’m gonna have to end you.’

     ‘Oh come on, Lulu,’ Colt shot back with a smile. ‘Show him.’

     ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart,’ Mason added.

     Luci let out a sigh as Punk trained his smile on her and she pursed her lips. ‘Fine,’ she grumbled and reached into the back pocket of her cargo pants and brought out a small waterproof pouch, which she tossed over to Punk. ‘Handle it with respect,’ she warned him as he zipped the pouch open.

     ‘What is all this?’ Punk asked as he pulled out small see-through bags with different kinds of powders inside, each a different colour, texture and scent.

     ‘My… seasonings,’ she said with hesitation and Punk instantly beamed. He picked each one up in turn and opened them to smell their contents.

     ‘Salt, paprika, basil…’ he reeled off, each scent new and enticing. He then paused and looked at her with a smug grin on his face. ‘This is the coriander isn’t it?’ he asked, picking up the largest bag of all.

     ‘Fuck you, give them back!’ she spat, grabbing all of the bags from him. ‘It may be the end of the world but we’re not fucking savages, dammit.’

     ‘And you ripped into me about my cupcake tattoo,’ Punk reminded her, ‘when you walk around trying to be all tough with a bunch of rosemary in your back pocket.’

     ‘You think I’m only ‘trying’ to be tough,’ Luci said in a low, sinister voice as she leaned right into Punk and fixed him with a scary glare.

     ‘Woah, I’m sick, remember?’ Punk said, putting on a pathetic face and she eased off. ‘In all honesty, you scare the crap out of me, but it’s kinda nice to see this softer side of you.’

     ‘You take that back!’ Luci said, raising her fork again.

     ‘Isn’t this nice?’ Colt interrupted the growing tension as he took the seat on the other side of Punk. Mason joined the table at the same time, pulling over a crate to sit on. ‘We’re all together, enjoying a lovely, family meal. What could be better, eh, Mason?’

     ‘The Event never happened and millions of people never died,’ he said, flatly.

     ‘Yeah, well, there is that.’

     ‘So, you’re the famous Mason I keep hearing about?’ Punk said to the older man, shaking his hand. ‘I believe I have you to thank for keeping me alive.’

     ‘Seriously, what is it with you lot and your thanks, keep your thanks,’ he said in annoyance and Punk was startled. Luci and Colt, however, had large smiles on their face – they knew what Mason was like. ‘I only did my duty. I saw y’all needin’ help and done the right thing.’

     ‘Well,’ Punk said, unsure how to respond, ‘I really owe you for that.’

     ‘You don’t owe me nothin’,’ Mason shot back, ‘just get back to health and please stop your friends here from bickering like a couple of jabberin’ hens.’

     ‘You two have been arguing?’ Punk turned to Luci and Colt on either side of him. Both glared at the other with a look that could kill.

     ‘No,’ they both said in unison and Punk rolled his eyes.

     ‘They just care about you, son,’ Mason said to Punk. ‘They just want what’s best for you.’

     ‘So tell me about you?’ Punk said keen to learn more about this mysterious man. ‘What prompted you to build this place?’ Before he even had a chance to finish his sentence, Colt and Luci interrupted him.

     ‘Oh no, it’s a long story, you don’t wanna get into-‘

     ‘Please let’s just enjoy this moment, it’s really not-‘

     ‘Your friends here think I’m some crazy old coot,’ Mason informed Punk, and his two companions fell silent. ‘I built this here place because I knew what was about to happen. Twenty years ago, I was informed of our impending doom and I was told to be organised for when the time comes.’

     ‘So, you knew about the Event?’ Punk asked, intrigued.

     ‘Not the exact plans, no, but I knew it would come at some time in the near future, and I knew it would be huge.’

     ‘So what caused it?’

     ‘Aliens!’

     Instantly, Punk regretted asking further. He bit his lip ring to stifle any kind of laughter and he couldn’t look at either Luci or Colt who were both making faces. ‘I see,’ he finally said.

     ‘You don’t believe me neither, do you?’

     ‘It’s nothing personal,’ Punk was hasty to point out. ‘I just don’t believe in _any_ supernatural kind of stuff.’

     ‘Except ghosts,’ Colt muttered under his breath and Punk glared at him.

     Well, I know what I saw that day,’ Mason defended, thumping his fist on the table. ‘I was sitting on my back porch one evening and suddenly there was this white, blinding light. Then I saw this huge ship floating in the sky above my house. It looked like a giant metal dome covered with flashing red and blue lights. And from this ship, came two small, grey men with these gigantic, black eyes. I was terrified and I just sat there and they told me all about the impending war with Earth. They told me to prepare and to spread the word. So I started to build this bunker and buy supplies.’

     ‘And did you warn other about this impending war?’ Punk asked. It may all have been wild imaginings but he had to admit, he found it entertaining.

     ‘I tried, but people just kept laughing at me! Just like you two ingrates are now,’ he shot at Colt and Luci, who were stifling their laughter. Punk pulled a face of mock disappointment and shook his head at the pair of them. ‘Eventually, I managed to get a small group of people to believe me and we all pitched in to finish this place.’

     ‘Where are they now?’

     ‘Gone,’ Mason sighed, sadly. ‘All died in the Event.’

     ‘So, why did the aliens warn you about the war? And why you, specifically?’

     ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Luci hissed under her breath.

     ‘I’m interested,’ Punk scolded her before motioning for Mason to continue.

     ‘It wasn’t the Greys who were planning the war,’ Mason informed Punk. ‘They’re not an aggressive race, just curious. They was spyin’ on other planets and alien cultures and overheard it on the intergalactic radiowaves, you see. Turns out it was our own government who had been conspiring with Martians. They would offer them human test subjects for Martian scientists to experiment on in return for futuristic technology. They’ve been at this for decades, ever since we landed on the moon. Ever notice how technology had a sudden surge since the 60s? You can’t tell me that’s aint fishy!

     ‘But the Martians are craftier than a bag of weasels and couldn’t be trusted. When they no longer needed us, they would destroy us. I was chosen to spread the word because the Greys knew they could trust me with this sensitive information. I’ve been hunting for UFO’s since I was nine years old so I have a lot of experience with this kind of thing. They also knew that I could persuade people to prepare.’

     ‘Just a shame it didn’t work out the way the Greys hoped,’ Punk returned.

     Mason shrugged. ‘I can’t force people to see the truth,’ he agreed.

     ‘Well, one thing’s for sure, Mason,’ Punk said after absorbing the older man’s crazy story, ‘you were proven right to build this bunker. It’s kept you, and all of us, alive.’ Even Colt and Luci could not argue with that and Mason smiled on seeing Punk taking his companions down a peg, even if he himself did not believe his story. He nodded his head in a sign of thanks to Punk who nodded back.

     ‘So… you believe in ghosts?’ Luci sneered at Punk who let out a long, annoyed sigh.

     ‘One thing I can’t figure out, Mason,’ Punk said, changing the subject, ‘how did you find us?’

     ‘Got surveillance cameras all around my bunker,’ he explained. ‘Can’t be too careful.’

     ‘No, you can’t,’ Punk agreed, absentmindedly cupping his bandaged left shoulder with his hand.

     ‘I normally don’t get involved with these kind of things but when I saw y’all being chased by those guys I just couldn’t stand by and-‘

     ‘Chased?’ Punk asked, his eyebrows knitted in confusion. Luci and Colt shared a look.

     ‘Well, yeah, by those three men.’

     ‘What men?’ Punk asked growing angry and he glanced at his companions who both stared down at their plates.

     ‘They’re still upstairs,’ Mason explained, feeling as if he’d just stepped right in it. ‘We’ve been keeping an eye on-‘

     ‘Show me,’ Punk growled and Mason nodded.

     ‘Punk, listen, I-‘ Luci started.

     ‘You kept this from me,’ he spat, pointing a finger in her face. ‘Both of you,’ he glared at Colt, who instantly felt guilty on seeing a hint of hurt in his best friend’s eyes.

     ‘We were gonna tell you,’ Colt said, ‘but you were still recovering and-‘

     ‘Save it,’ Punk said, putting his hand up to stop Colt. ‘Show me,’ he said again, turning to Mason and, leaning on his IV frame, he hobbled alongside the older man as they walked down a different corridor and into the small surveillance room. He offered Punk the chair and he sat, staring at the monitors. On the screens, he could see a course image of a campfire and two men sitting around it. They were dressed in black and one had long, dark hair. The other he could not quite make out.

     ‘The other one must be out patrolling,’ Mason explained, looking at the monitors with a skillful eye. ‘They’re looking for you. Have been for days now; they know you’re nearby but can’t figure out where.’

     ‘How are the entrances to the bunker?’ Punk asked, his jaw clenched and crinkles forming on the bridge of his nose.

     ‘They’re hidden,’ Mason assured him. ‘Unless you know where they are, you can’t see them. I’ve also been working with your friend, Colt, to reinforce them.’

     ‘Good,’ Punk said. He heard footsteps shuffle into the room behind him and spun around in the chair to face Colt and Luci. They both looked sheepish, even more so when they saw how pissed off Punk was.

     ‘I’m gonna go clean up,’ Mason said, excusing himself from the awkward scene. After he left the room, a nasty atmosphere hung in the air.

     ‘So were you ever planning on telling me?’ Punk asked the pair.

     ‘Yes,’ Colt said. ‘We just didn’t want to spring this on you.’

    ‘You, what, thought I was too weak to deal with this?’

     ‘You were,’ Luci said with confidence. ‘I was there when you woke up, remember? You were freaking out, and that was only when I told you about the bunker. I had to change the subject to calm you down.’ Punk lowered his head; he couldn’t deny she was completely right. ‘I stand by what we did.’

     ‘Fine,’ Punk conceded defeat. ‘So who are they?’

     ‘They’re called the Shield,’ Colt began, ‘everybody who lived in New Chicago had heard of them but we all thought they were a myth, a scary story to keep everyone in line. Even when Cliff and I became officers, we were never told anything about them but we heard all these rumours from the other-’

     ‘There’s three of them,’ Luci interrupted Colt, who looked over to her, stunned. ‘Roman Reigns is their leader. He’s tall, freakishly strong and has incredible stamina. He could even outlast you in a fight,’ she said looking at Punk who absorbed everything she said. ‘He’s also really smart. You can’t underestimate him.

     ‘Seth Rollins is their speed and agility. Everything I know about stealth, I learnt from him, but he’s far better than I’ll ever be.’ Punk bit his lip ring on hearing this. Luci had followed them without even a trace for weeks. If she was that good and Rollins was better, it made him incredibly dangerous. ‘He can outrun almost anybody and do so without making a single sound. He doesn’t like to brawl like the other two, instead he prefers to sneak up and deliver the killing blow.

     ‘The third guy is Dean Ambrose. He’s their wild card. Brutal, sadistic and ruthless. He loves to fight and he loves to maim and kill. He’s unpredictable which makes him almost impossible to second guess during a brawl. Most of the grisly rumours going round New Chicago; they were either his doing or his idea.’

     Colt gulped on hearing the details about the dangerous men who were literally a few feet above their heads, searching for them ruthlessly like hyenas on the scent of a dying animal.

     ‘What were the rumours?’ Punk asked. His face hadn’t changed expression the entire time and they could tell he was wracking his brain on what their next move would be.

     ‘A few months ago, this guy called Bill Goldberg and his gang came into the city and laid claim to the land next to the waterfront; land that held great strategic advantage. Bischoff was incensed and sent one of his best parties to take them down. The man tasked with bringing down Goldberg was Glen Jacobs and he was no push over. He was 7ft tall and built like a brick shithouse. People used to call him the Devil’s Favourite Demon because he was that formidable! Yet Goldberg snapped his neck like a twig. Joe was on his team at the time and managed to escape to tell the tale.’

     ‘I remember Jacobs,’ Colt said, shocked by the story. ‘He was a legend in the camp. I never knew what happened to him.’

     ‘Nobody did, Bischoff had it covered up,’ Luci explained. ‘Goldberg had to pay for the murder of his best party leader, so he sent in the Shield, his hounds of justice.’

     ‘And what happened?’ Punk asked.

     ‘A massacre,’ Luci said, coldly. ‘Goldberg and his gang were torn to shreds. Pieces of their mutilated bodies were strung up around the waterfront as a warning to anyone else thinking of stealing from Bischoff.’

     ‘Bischoff,’ Punk spat. ‘Hasn’t that fucker done enough to us already?’

     ‘Not in his mind,’ Luci countered. ‘Joe killed Cliff but he was meant to kill you too and return Colt back to the camp. They failed so he’s sent his secret army to finish the job. Make no mistake, we _can not_ fight them. This won’t be like those Viper guys. The Shield are highly trained and skilled. They would finish us off before we had a chance to land a single blow.’

     ‘Something doesn’t add up here,’ Punk said, his eyes narrowed with thought. ‘If these guys could take us out so easily, why appear now? When I was basically at death’s door? It seems out of character.’

     ‘Because they want me too,’ Luci clarified. ‘I turned on my own team and let you both get away. I’m on Bischoff’s shit list and he wants me dead.’ Punk still looked confused. ‘They must have figured out you were sick and knew that if they let nature run its course, I would appear to help you eventually. Once I was out in the open and you were out cold, we were easy pickings.’

     ‘And earlier we were with the Widows,’ Punk noted, seeing the pieces fall into place. ‘They’re not stupid enough to face off against a pack of highly trained women armed with guns.’

     ‘Exactly.’

     ‘So what are we gonna do?’ Colt asked, fear evident in his voice and from Luci’s recount, he had every right to be.

     ‘They don’t look to be going anywhere, any time soon,’ Luci said, looking at the monitors. ‘We can only hope they get bored after a while and leave.’

     ‘It’s our best option,’ Punk agreed. ‘I’m certainly in no fit state to fight, even if we had a chance against them.’

     ‘We’re safe down here,’ Colt assured them both. ‘Those doors are super strong and really well camouflaged.’

     ‘We’ll keep an eye on them,’ Luci said to the both of them. ‘And we’ll get you back to your old self,’ she said, placing a hand on Punk’s good shoulder. He smiled weakly but it faded quickly as he looked at the grainy picture of the two men on the screen.


	14. A Close Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 14 Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-14-cover-815174943)   
>  [The Shield Profile](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/The-Shield-Profile-812008928)

     Time passed and Punk improved every day. The IV drip was long gone and he was now able to walk around the bunker by himself, although he had needed the frame for support the first week. His knee had finally healed up as had his infected wound, now just a nasty looking scar on his shoulder, above his black sheep tattoo. His appetite had returned with a vengeance and Mason half-joked that the Chicago native would finish off his supplies that were supposed to last 10 years in a single month. Luci proved to be an invaluable asset to his reappearing hunger as she cooked meals that were more delicious by the day. It was a small luxury but one that every member of the group appreciated and it eased their fears of having the enemy directly above their heads. She wasn’t lying though – she really did have coriander in everything!

     To pass the many dull hours, locked underground, Punk would read books from Mason’s impressive collection or work out. Together, Mason and Punk had build a crude punching bag and Punk would spar with it for hours at a time. Colt, and sometimes Luci, would join him for exercise and together they would do push ups and sit ups among other things. One day, Mason stood watching Colt and Punk do push ups, goading the two men who were not quite as fit as they once were. They challenged Mason to do better to which he quickly burst out a rep of twenty perfect push ups and walked away with a smug grin on his face, leaving his audience shaking their heads in disbelief.

     They agreed to always have somebody in the monitoring room, keeping watch over the Shield and their activities. Punk would sit in the dark for hours, studying the three men intently, trying to force away all the doubt and helplessness he felt. They were showing no signs of leaving, and he was beginning to get severe cabin fever. He knew he would be back to full fitness very soon and itching to get back on the road. He sighed and rubbed the red lips on his wrist with his thumb. His mission was still the same; he still had to get to Tampa and find April.

     It all happened very suddenly one day. Colt ran into the common room, finding Punk, Luci and Mason engaged in a game of cards. They all looked up as he ran in, slightly out of breath.

     ‘They’re gone!’ he gasped out.

     A quick scuffle to the surveillance room confirmed it. There was no sign of the three men in the vicinity. The only sign they had been there at all was the remains of a campfire.

     ‘I don’t like this,’ Colt said.

     ‘Me neither,’ agreed Luci, ‘it reeks of a trap.’

     ‘But it’s the only opening we’ve had in weeks,’ Punk sighed, rubbing his hands through his hair. ‘If we don’t act now, we may never get this chance again.’

     ‘So what do you suggest we do?’ Colt asked.

     Punk paused, staring at each monitor in turn, still not convinced by the Shield’s sudden change of heart. He didn’t see Luci glance towards him.

     ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Luci started, ‘and I think I’ve got an idea.’ All three men turned to face her, urging her on. ‘I’ll go out first and draw them away. You guys wait, say a day or two, and head in the other direction.’

     There was immediate uproar at Luci’s plan. As she expected, Mason and Colt spluttered at her idea and the amount of risk she was taking on. As they started chiding her and pointing out all the ways her plan was flawed, she rolled her eyes. What did surprise her though, was Punk’s reaction. He didn’t explode like the other two; he just stood eyeing her in complete silence. Luci could feel her resilience crumble under his glare and lowered her gaze to the floor.

     ‘Argue all you want, it’s happening,’ she silenced the room. ‘I’m going to get my stuff together.’ She turned sharply and headed out of the monitor room, rushing away down the hall and into the small room she had bunked in for the past few weeks. She began stuffing her belongings into her small pack when she noticed a figure leaning against the doorframe.

     ‘You’re not going,’ Punk said, sternly, his tattooed arms crossed over his chest.

     ‘Watch me,’ Luci spat back, not even looking at him.

     ‘I won’t allow it.’

     ‘Oh, ok, _Dad!_ ’ Luci yelled sarcastically, finally turning to face him. ‘Sorry to break this to you, but you’re not the boss of me.’

     ‘You’re right, I’m not,’ Punk agreed. ‘But I do owe you and I won’t watch you sacrifice yourself for me.’

     ‘I’ll be fine!’

     ‘It’s suicide and you know it!’ This time it was Punk who raised his voice and it halted Luci in her tracks. She pursed her lips and sat on the bed with a flop.

     ‘It’s me they want,’ she sighed, and Punk’s features softened. ‘You two are easy to track down but they’re having trouble finding me. Seth taught me too well.’

     ‘Good, so keep it that way.’

     ‘I can’t,’ she turned to Punk and he noticed the desperation in her eyes. ‘I just… can’t…’

     ‘Why not?’

     ‘Because,’ she paused, ‘because they’ll use you to lure me out again.’ Punk lowered his arms and placed them in his back pockets. ‘I know how they think. They probably thought they’d struck gold when you became sick cause they knew I couldn’t just sit back and watch you die. If they even have a hint that I’m still following you they will use you again, and they won’t go easy on you this time. I can’t even bear to think about what they would do to you and I can not - I _will not -_ see you suffer like that.’

     Punk breathed out through his nose and slowly walked into the small room. He knelt down so that he was face to face with her and looked into her sad eyes. ‘Listen, Lu, I don’t know where these feelings you have for me came from, but I can’t do this to you, it isn’t fair,’ he sighed. ‘I have to be honest with you.’ He paused, looking down at his hands while he nibbled his lip ring.

     ‘I know,’ she said, sadly and he looked back up at her. ‘I know you don’t feel the same way about me.’

     ‘I don’t,’ he confirmed with a sigh. ‘I’m sorry.’

     ‘Don’t be,’ she smirked. ‘I’ve always known this was a one-sided thing.’ She paused and looked into his radiant hazel eyes. ‘I know all about the girl in Tampa,’ she smiled. ‘You got this done for her?’ She lightly grabbed his right wrist and rubbed her finger over the red tattoo. ‘Those are hers, right?’ she asked, looking at the sweet, puckered lips. He nodded, silently. ‘And I know we don’t share the same connection that you and that red headed Widow had, either. But I will never change the way I feel about you.’

     ‘Why?’ Punk asked. ‘There’s no future here – why make yourself miserable?’

     ‘I have my reasons,’ she replied, simply. ‘Listen, it’s not as bad as you guys are making out. I’m not gonna just hand myself over to them or anything. I’ll still be hiding in the shadows. I’ll just stage a couple of ‘slip ups’ so they’ll follow my trail and once I’ve led them far enough away, I’ll go dark again. They’ll also see that I’ve split from you two and won’t use you to get to me.’

     Punk nodded his understanding. ‘You’ll be really careful though.’

     ‘Scout’s honour,’ she smirked, raising her fingers in salute. ‘Even though I was kicked out of the girl scouts for misbehaving.’

     ‘I still don’t feel right about this.’

     ‘But you know it’s our only way out of here,’ Luci countered. ‘They’re expecting you to head south through Alabama to reach Florida, so instead go east through Tennessee and down through Georgia. I’ll also give you guys some tips on how to stay hidden; you are both ridiculously easy to track down.’

     ‘Ok,’ Punk said, still frowning.

     ‘Cheer up, Grumpy-Face,’ Luci teased. ‘I’ll be waiting for you boys in Tampa.’

 

     It was a tense moment when Luci left the bunker that night. They all stood in the communal room as she packed some supplies that Mason gave to her.

     ‘Oh and here,’ Mason smiled, handing her a large packet of dried coriander, ‘this stuff is wasted on me.’ She thanked him eagerly and gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘By God, I’m gonna miss your cooking, missy.’

     ‘Hey Lulu,’ Colt said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I know we don’t really see eye-to-eye but be careful out there, ok?’

     ‘Sure thing, Scotty,’ Luci teased. ‘Same goes to you. Take care of Punk for me.’

     ‘I’ll try,’ he sighed with a laugh. ‘He’s a fucking handful.’

     ‘I’m right here,’ Punk said, annoyed. He turned to Luci and his demeanour changed. ‘Remember what I said; take care of yourself out there. Those guys are dangerous.’

     ‘Aye aye Cap’n,’ Luci grinned, saluting.

     The side of Punk’s mouth rose slightly in a grin. He may not feel the same way she felt about him but he had grown very fond of the young woman the past couple of weeks. Behind that tough, crude exterior there was a sweet, gentle side, which reminded him somewhat of himself. She may have driven Colt nuts during their stay in the bunker, but she had done everything in her power to help Punk recover and feel comfortable and he would always be thankful for that.

     ‘Come here, kiddo,’ he smiled and pulled her into a gentle hug. She returned the hug and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. She then leaned up and took a deep sniff of his hair. ‘Ok, we’re done,’ Punk instructed, pulling away from her abruptly. He shook his head on seeing the devilish grin on her face.

     ‘Bye boys, I’ll see you again soon,’ she smirked before turning to Mason. ‘Ready to go, Good-Lookin’?’

     ‘Sure thing, follow me and I’ll take you to the entrance,’ Mason signaled for Luci to exit through a door in the communal room and both Punk and Colt watched as they disappeared from sight. Running through to the monitor room, they watched as the two slowly eased their way out of the entrance and seeing nobody around, Luci dashed off into the shadows and away.

 

 

_One month later…_

 

     The rain hit heavy that morning, churning the docile earth into a sucking, clawing beast, the thunder above acting as its voice, bellowing its war cry across the land. Huddled under the hole-ridden tarp, Colt shook the drips from his hair as he pulled a can of chopped tomatoes from his pack and placed it on the sodden ground in front of him. He looked up at his companion, water streaming from the brim of his cap as he wrestled with the soaked map in his hands. He couldn’t see Punk’s face but he could see the frustration in his body language as he turned the map around, pulling it in close and tracing his finger across every line in turn. He heard a loud breath exhaling through his friend’s nose and shook his head wryly.

     As he brought out a can of tuna, he heard a frantic rustling and looked up in time to catch Punk tossing the crudely folded map back into his pack.

   ‘You gonna admit it yet?’ Colt asked, taking out another can of tuna and placing it by the last.

     ‘Fucking map is soaked through,’ Punk huffed. ‘Can’t see a fucking thing.’

     ‘Not that,’ Colt chided. ‘You know what I mean.’

     ‘We’re not lost,’ Punk shot back and Colt gave a snort. ‘We’re _not!’_

     ‘We’ve been walking in circles for days now,’ Colt pointed out. ‘Let’s face it, we’re lost.’

     ‘We’re not lost, I’m just not exactly sure where we are.’

     ‘I’m pretty sure that is the definition of lost.’

     Punk sighed and leaned back against the tree trunk behind him, nibbling furiously on his lip ring.

     ‘I’m gonna say it again, let’s go to that road back there and follow the signs to the next town,’ Colt said.

     ‘No,’ Punk argued. ‘You remember what Luci said; stick to the back roads and keep away from the towns.’

     ‘Actually, she said to stay away from the towns unless absolutely necessary,’ Colt corrected.

     ‘We’re not lost,’ Punk stuck his heels in deeper.

     ‘I’m not talking about that,’ Colt shook his head and motioned to the cans in front of him. ‘I think this counts as necessary.’

     Punk sat up slightly and looked at the cans of food in front of his friend, counting eight in total. He looked at Colt and shrugged, not getting the point.

     ‘This is it,’ Colt stated.

     ‘This is what?’ Punk asked growing more annoyed by the second.

     ‘This is all the food we have.’

     Now he had Punk’s attention and he sat up completely, counting the cans again. ‘No it isn’t,’ he scoffed. ‘Where’s the rest?’

   ‘There is nothing else,’ Colt explained. ‘I told you, this is it.’

     ‘What about the stuff Mason gave us?’

     ‘That was weeks ago,’ Colt laughed bitterly. ‘All the food Mason gave us, everything the Widows gave us; it’s all gone. This. Is. It!’

     Punk slowly leaned back against the tree, the shock written across his face. ‘Fuck,’ he muttered under his breath.

     ‘Yeah, fuck, as in we’ll be fucked if we don’t find more food soon.’

     ‘What do you suggest?’

     ‘Jesus, I feel like a broken record,’ Colt sighed, exasperated. ‘We need to go back to the road we saw, follow the signs to the next town and raid it for any supplies.’

     Punk nodded silently. ‘You ever done a raid before?’

     ‘No,’ Colt admitted. ‘I never progressed further up the ranks than a low level officer in New Chicago, never even came close to joining a raiding party.’

     ‘I don’t like this,’ Punk admitted, removing his cap and scratching his fingers through his scruffy hair.

     ‘Neither do I, but what choice do we have?’

     ‘Fine,’ Punk sighed, ‘at dusk, we’ll head back to the road.’

 

     As fate would have it, the next town was only a few miles away and the two men arrived at its boundaries with hours of darkness to spare. They ducked down into a ditch a mile away from where the gloomy buildings huddled together, black silhouettes against the dark grey sky resembling a sleeping giant.

     ‘What do you think?’ Colt whispered, eyeing the strange structures in front of them.

     ‘I suppose, now’s as good a time as any,’ Punk replied, doing his best to the hide the uncertainty in his voice. His mind flashed back to the ambush by the Vipers and he suppressed a shudder. For all they knew, this town was a nest of snakes, lying low under the rocks and waiting for unsuspecting prey, ready to pounce. Punk became aware that he suddenly had his pipe in his hand, his fingers entwined tightly around the lead, vice-like.

     ‘Come on,’ he motioned to Colt as he stalked into the shadows.

     ‘Where we going?’ Colt asked, as he followed.

     ‘We’re not going in by the main road,’ Punk explained. ‘It’ll leave us too exposed. We’ll go in a more discrete way and we’ll raid the houses on the outskirts only. Leaves us an easy get away if we come across any unfriendlies.’

     ‘Good plan,’ Colt nodded and crouched low as the town loomed closer. The two men ducked down again as the first buildings stood silently only a few feet away. They both took in a long, low breath and exhaled slowly, releasing all of their anxiety and tension, before finally taking the plunge and dashing towards the buildings.

     Once they reached the first wall, they ducked down again, their backs clinging tightly to the bricks like limpets. Both men were breathing heavily with cold sweaty beads clinging to their foreheads. Punk swallowed deeply then peeked around the corner, his hazel eyes wide and alert.

     Nothing.

     He motioned for Colt to halt and he slowly turned the corner, seeing the way clear, he scampered to the doorway of the building they were hiding beside. The wooden door was already caved in, and he gingerly stepped inside, trying his best to silence his footsteps. He stood, not even daring to breath, listening out for any movement around or above him in the stairwell. He was convinced his heart could be heard thumping against his rib cage.

     A quick sweep of the close of the apartment building convinced him it was empty and he returned to the door and softly called for Colt, who scuttled over. The two moved further into the hallway and finding a smashed door to their left, carefully stepped into the apartment. Punk held his pipe out in front of him, his knuckles clenched so tightly they were white, each step soft and slow, all of his senses alert for any sign of human life.

     They located the kitchen and found the entire place ransacked; not even a single can of food left behind. Admitting defeat, they made their way to the opposite apartment, finding the door forced open there as well. Feeling more confident, Punk instructed Colt to check the kitchen while he searched for anybody lingering in the flat.

     Punk heard footsteps shuffling towards him and shot around, brandishing his pipe.

     ‘Woah, it’s me,’ Colt whispered and Punk let out the breath he’d been holding in his chest.

     ‘Anything?’ he asked.

     ‘Nothing,’ Colt sighed.

     ‘Shit.’

     ‘Upstairs?’

     ‘Yeah.’

     The two men inched their way back to the close and both placed their backs against the wall, their ears straining for any noise above them. They could both feel the paranoia creeping up on them. Their minds began to play tricks and they could hear the floorboards creaking under strange feet and soft breathing of ambushers. They felt as if one wrong step would awaken the nest and the hornets would swarm around them.

     Punk lightly stepped towards the stairs, the fingers clutching his pipe now trembling and his teeth gritted together to keep them from chattering with nerves. He slowly climbed the stairs, his heart pounding louder with each step while Colt followed a short distance away, visibly shaking through the heavy gloom. The silence was both comforting and terrifying, seeming to promise safety yet also hiding danger. They could both feel the stillness on their shoulders, as heavy as their packs, weighing them down like anchors and filling them with dread.

     The first floor landing was empty and showed three doors. They took each one in turn and searched the cupboards, disappointment evident on their faces to find all three kitchens picked clean. Silently they eased their way back down the stairs and slipped into the first apartment.

     ‘Raiders have already been here,’ Colt pointed out, despite how obvious it was.

     ‘Probably had the same idea as us,’ Punk sighed. ‘We’ll try a few more places.’

     As the night crept on and the two men sneaked among the shadows, they began to find their stride. They dashed between the buildings and doors, searching every kitchen and cupboard in vain until finally, as dawn arrived, they retreated from the town, completely empty-handed.

 

     ‘Here,’ Colt handed Punk a tin of tuna as they huddled in a nook, a mile or two from the town. Punk snapped from his thoughts and accepted the can, but as he stuffed the cold chunks of fish into his mouth, he lapsed back into a trance.

     ‘It was only our first night,’ Colt pointed out, trying to reassure his friend. ‘And even then, we only had a few hours.’

     ‘There was nothing at all,’ Punk argued. ‘The outer buildings are no use, we need to go further into the town this time.’

     ‘No, it’s too dangerous,’ Colt debated.

     ‘Well, it’s either that or starve to death, your choice,’ Punk shot back, and Colt couldn’t help but laugh.

     ‘Come on, Mr Doom-and-Gloom, it’s not all that bad.’

     ‘Isn’t it?’ Punk raised his voice. ‘We’ve enough food to last a couple more days at most and we have no fucking idea where we even are.’

     ‘So you’re finally admitting that we’re lost?’

     ‘Fine, you want me to say it?’ Punk spat, sitting up resting his arms on his knees. ‘We’re fucking lost! Ok, happy now?’ He slumped back with a bump and crossed his arms over his chest again, his face contorted in his grumpiest expression. Colt was very much used to his friend’s mood swings by now and it didn’t faze him in the slightest.

     ‘Have you even tried to find this place on the map?’ he asked, still smiling.

     ‘Yeah, for your information, I did, but I can’t find ‘Bumble-Fuck, Tennessee’ anywhere,’ he pouted.

     ‘Woah, this town’s really called Bumble-Fuck?’

     Colt’s joke made Punk snap and he shot up, grabbing the map and flung it as hard as he could across the small campsite straight at Colt’s face. Colt, however, was expecting an outburst sooner or later and managed to cover his head in time, laughing at his friend’s behaviour.

     ‘You’re so fucking childish,’ Colt chided with a smile as he picked up the map.

     ‘Fuck you!’ Punk yelled, making Colt snigger again. Punk had always been a man who wore his emotions on his sleeve and he was infamous for his grumpy temper. Very few people could stand him when he was like this fortunately Colt was one of those people. Cliff had been another. They both found the best thing to do was tease him relentlessly. Eventually he would start to see the funny side and snap out of his moodiness.

     He knew the only reason he was being like this was because he felt he had let them both down. They had followed Luci’s instructions the past few weeks and had only travelled at night and rested during the day. It made sense to use the darkness of night as cover and eliminated their need for a fire, which was both a signal to others and an easy mark to track. Yet, it also made following the map very difficult. It was bad enough they didn’t have a compass or even the stars to use as a guide, but they were also sticking to isolated rural areas where there were very little landmarks. They had been walking on instinct alone for weeks now, believing they were heading in the right direction only to find themselves nowhere near where they expected to be. Punk felt responsible for this and he was bringing his guilt out on Colt, even if he didn’t mean to.

     Colt sat back and calmly unfolded the map. He found the red circle left by Mason to mark where the bunker had been and started from there, following the map eastward through the state of Tennessee. He had to admit, it was near impossible to pinpoint where they were. In every direction he looked, he saw swathes of brown dirt and dead trees. There were no bodies of water, no large hills or mountains and even a thorough search of each town on the map brought up nothing with the same name as the one they had just raided. With a sigh, Colt admitted defeat and folded the map back up again.

     ‘Any luck?’ Punk asked.

     ‘Nope,’ Colt said, sadly. ‘But we’ll find our way eventually. Maybe we just follow the road for a while, until we find a town large enough to spot on the map.’

     ‘Fine,’ Punk agreed, exhaling a long breath. ‘I’m sorry for snapping at you.’

     ‘I get it,’ Colt shrugged. ‘Staring at that map was doing my fucking head in too, and that was only for ten minutes. You’ve been wrestling with this thing for weeks now.’

     ‘I’m the reason we’re lost,’ Punk sighed, lowering his gaze.

     ‘Hey, if I’d been in charge, we would have circled right back to Chicago by now,’ Colt joked and finally he saw a hint of a smile at the side of Punk’s mouth.

     ‘True,’ he admitted, ‘you’ve never even read a Dr Seuss, how the hell would you manage to read a map?’

     ‘I’ll have you know, I did read a Dr Seuss once.’

     ‘Really,’ Punk asked, sceptically. ‘Which one?’

     ‘That one with the dude that looks like you.’

     ‘Me?’ Punk asked with confusion. ‘What, the Cat in the Hat?’

     ‘No,’ Colt scoffed.

     ‘The Lorax?’ Punk asked and Colt looked at him funny. ‘He has a beard… or moustache or something…’

     ‘No, idiot. The green guy.’

     ‘The Grinch?’

     ‘Yeah, him. You’re like the same person. Going around stealing everybody’s fun and joy.’

     ‘I am not the Grinch!’

     ‘You hate Christmas.’

     ‘I don’t _hate_ Christmas, it’s just not my scene.’ He stopped and narrowed his eyes at Colt. ‘Wait a minute, did you seriously read that book?’

     ‘Yeah,’ Colt said, a little too forcefully.

     ‘You just watched the fucking cartoon didn’t you?’

     ‘No,’ Colt spluttered but Punk just stared at him. ‘Ok, I admit it, yeah. I’ve never read a Dr Seuss.’

     ‘I knew it,’ Punk exclaimed triumphantly. ‘I don’t get why you hate books so much.’

     ‘I don’t _hate_ books, they’re just not my scene.’

     The two men shared a smile and a small laugh, Punk finally feeling more at ease. Yet both of them dreaded the oncoming night, knowing that they would have to return to the town again and this time they were venturing into the more dangerous territory right in the center.

 

     Punk knitted his eyebrows together, feeling the familiar sensation of unease and alertness that he had felt the previous night. With Colt close behind him, he darted to another shadowy nook and crouched down, looking ahead of him to check the way was clear. They were now nearing the centre of the town and he had spotted the house they were to try and raid next. The door was still intact and it looked ripe for the picking, or so he hoped. Perhaps it was just empty optimism.

     He turned to Colt and pointed to the house and nodded, signalling that he was about to head that direction and for Colt to wait here until he knew it was clear. However, before he even had a chance to move into position Colt tore past him straight towards the door.

     ‘No, Colt, dammit!’ he swore under his breath but it was too late; Colt was already out of earshot. Punk, alarmed from the sudden, unexpected move from his friend, backed against the wall again. He peered out around the bin he was hiding behind and saw Colt scurrying out into the open. He hitched a breath in his chest as his friend became exposed for a few seconds before darting into a dark alleyway and crouched down next to the doorway. He waved for Punk to join him, too far away to see the death stare that his friend was giving him.

     Once he knew the coast was clear, Punk ran over the wide main road and joined Colt in the alleyway, taking up position at the other side of the doorway. They waited for a while, listening out for any sounds but none came. Punk turned to Colt and pointed to the door.

     ‘Just try the handle,’ Punk whispered. Colt stayed crouched low and reached up and pulled the door handle down. The door didn’t budge; the latch was still locked.

     ‘Shit,’ Colt hissed. ‘What now?’

     ‘We’ll try and break it down together,’ Punk instructed and the two men, after one last glance around them, stood up and with a well timed kick from the pair, the door flew in, back on its hinges. The sound of the door caving in reverberated in their ears like a cannon shot and the two men crouched down again, one facing to the left, the other to the right, craning their senses for any reaction from the town around them. The reply from their surroundings was silence.

     Breathing a sigh of relief, Punk turned his attention to the entrance way and he took a step inside. Colt took up the rear, forcing the crumpled door back into its frame as best he could. By the time, he had manoeuvred the heavy, wooden door, Punk had searched the entire ground floor of the house. He instructed Colt to check the kitchen for supplies while he searched for signs of life upstairs.

     Colt walked into the kitchen and he stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened in amazement as he spied the scene before him. He didn’t even need to open a single cupboard to know that they had hit the jackpot. Multiple crates littered the worktop, each stuffed full of tinned food- enough to fill their packs twice over!

     He pulled his pack from his shoulders and was about to cram it full of cans when Punk came walking in behind him.

     ‘All clear,’ Punk said, placing his pipe back in his belt as he strode straight up to Colt.

     ‘Hey, look at-‘ Colt started but Punk pushed him in the chest with both hands.

     ‘What the fuck was that back there?’ Punk interrupted.

     ‘What the hell, man? What are you on about?’

     ‘I gave the signal that I was gonna head over here and you just fucking went,’ Punk yelled. ‘You were out in the open, Colt, and you don’t even have a weapon.’

     ‘What?’ Colt asked with a bitter laugh. ‘You gave the signal for me to go.’

     ‘No, I did not!’

     ‘You nodded your head once, which was the signal we agreed meant I had to take lead.’

     ‘No, we _agreed_ that your signal was when I nodded twice.’

     ‘No, we vetoed that idea cause it was too hard to make out in the dark. Your signal to go was a raised fist.’

     Punk paused as it came flooding back to him.

     ‘Shit, you’re right. Sorry, man.’

     ‘I did think it was weird that you ordered me to take lead at that point.’

     ‘Then why the fuck did you go?’

     ‘Cause you’re the leader,’ Colt shrugged. ‘Anyway, look at-‘ He stopped suddenly and his eyes became as wide as saucers. He stood, mute, staring at something over Punk’s shoulder.

     ‘What, what is it?’ Punk asked, feeling dread in his stomach. That feeling only increased a hundred fold as he felt the barrel of a shotgun rest against the back of his head.

     ‘Don’t move or I’ll blow your fucking brains out,’ a gruff voice snarled behind him.

     ‘We’re not looking for any trouble-’ Punk started but stopped when he was dealt a light blow from the shotgun.

     ‘Shut your mouth and put those hands up,’ a different voice instructed and Punk did as he was told, knowing there was more than one person in with them. ‘You too,’ the same voice instructed Colt who raised his hands high in surrender.

     ‘Turn around,’ the first voice ordered Punk, nudging him in the head with his weapon again. Slowly, Punk turned, his back now to the kitchen wall as he faced their assailants. There were three of them and they were all armed. One held the shotgun, the other two had rusty blades. Punk swallowed a gulp.

     ‘Where’s the rest of you?’ the first man question.

     ‘Around,’ Punk replied before Colt could. ‘They’ve got guns too. Good ones with actual ammunition in them, unlike your cute little toy.’ In response, the man raised his gun and fired a shot that skimmed right past Colt’s left ear and into the wall behind his head. Both men jumped, but only Colt let out a yell of surprise. Punk just stared at the three men and clenched his jaw.

     ‘I think you’re lying,’ the second man said. ‘There’s nobody else. It’s just you two, which makes this nice and easy. Kill them, Earl.’

     ‘Hey Earl,’ Punk called, acting on instinct. The man with the gun looked up. ‘Catch!’ Punk grabbed a can from behind him and threw it straight at the man’s face. With Earl distracted for a split second, Punk took his chance. He sprang forward and grabbed the gun with both hands, forcing it back into Earl’s nose and knocking him to the ground. Punk turned the weapon on the two remaining men, his breathing steady despite the frantic pounding in his chest.

     ‘Move!’ Punk instructed the two men. ‘MOVE!’

     Reluctantly, they placed their hands up and moved aside. Punk turned, following their movements with the shotgun and not removing his eyes from them. ‘Get going, Colt,’ he yelled to his friend, who was still clutching his ear. He barely heard him but didn’t need to and he dashed to the door, finding it already off its hinges. He looked back to Punk in the kitchen, still holding the other men at bay with the gun.

     ‘I’ll be right behind you, buddy,’ Punk assured his friend, ‘just get going.’

     Colt did as he was told and ran out of the building, even though it tore him up to leave his friend behind. He dashed through the dark streets, winding his way between the decaying buildings. He felt the walls closing in around him, squeezing the life from his lungs, the ringing in his ear deafening him. He felt claustrophobic, like he couldn’t breath while everything kept tightening around him, squashing him into pulp.

     And just like that, he was free. The town faded away as the countryside spread out in front of him. He turned back briefly but saw no familiar figure running behind him. _Get going!_ Punk’s voice in his head snapped him back to reality and he turned and ran for the hills, not stopping once until he reached their old campsite. He collapsed to his knees, his pack falling from his limp shoulders and he threw up a small pocket of vomit. The blood in his ear was thumping against his skull and he clutched his left temple, taking in huge breaths as beads of sweat ran down his face.

     He heard a rustle behind him. ‘Punk?’ he said and turned but only the wind replied. ‘Punk?’ he asked again to the dark hillside.

     _I’ll be right behind you, buddy._

‘Come on, Punkers,’ Colt muttered, his eyes scanning the entire hillside for any sign of movement, feeling the cold wind rip through his bomber jacket and freezing his blood. ‘Come on, come on…’

     ‘What you lookin’ at?’

     The voice behind him brought him to his feet at once and Colt threw himself at his best friend, engulfing him in a desperate hug. He heard Punk chuckle softly as he returned the embrace.

     ‘Jesus, stop fucking scaring me like that,’ Colt chastened but with a huge grin on his face.

    ‘Sorry, buddy, I didn’t mean to scare you,’ Punk smiled. ‘I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was going and came out the other side of the town. Took me a little while to find my way back here.’

     Finally, Colt let go of his friend and they both looked at each other. ‘You alright?’ Punk asked, pointing to his ear.

     ‘What?’ Colt asked then laughed. ‘Joking aside, he missed me completely but I can’t hear a fucking thing out of it.’

     ‘It’ll come back in a few days,’ Punk reassured his friend. ‘Fuck, that was close, huh?’

     ‘Too close,’ Colt said, seriously. ‘We can’t do that again.’

     ‘Not in this town anyway,’ Punk agreed. ‘They’ll be on the look out for us. We need to get moving.’

     ‘Best idea you’ve had all day,’ Colt nodded and pulled his pack over his shoulders. ‘Which way?’ he asked, turning to Punk.

     ‘Who fucking cares,’ Punk said, his voice low and deep. ‘Away from here.’

 

     Returning to the road they had followed to get to the town, they chose another random name from the signposts and went in that direction. Both men were uncharacteristically silent as they marched along the path. Punk was still high on adrenaline from the previous night’s escapades and all of his senses were on alert for ambushers. Paranoia had set in completely and to his mind it was not a case of _if_ they would be attacked but _when._ His head shot from side to side, taking in their surroundings and checking every rock and tree for a single sign of movement.

     Colt, on the other hand, had lost every ounce of adrenaline and had completely crashed, both physically and mentally. He suddenly felt exhaustion take over every muscle in his body while his mind had emptied completely. All he could focus on was the constant ringing in his skull as he placed one foot in front of the other as if he were on autopilot.

     They decided to break Luci’s golden rules for now and travelled the main road through the day. They no longer cared if they were exposed as their empty stomachs began to grumble relentlessly. They had both experienced hunger since leaving New Chicago. Although they had been well stocked, they knew their journey would be long and they had rationed their supplies. It had been tough at first, eating meals that even the residents of New Chicago would have called meagre but they had soon gotten used to the hollow feelings in the pit of their bodies. It showed on their frames too; Punk was now leaner and wiry while Colt, although still broad was a shadow of his former self.

     But it was different this time. Before, it had been a voluntary hunger. Now, eating through their supplies was followed up with a feeling of dread as if they were trapped in a car, slowly skidding on ice towards a cliff face, waiting for the drop and powerless to prevent it. Though both were determined to find food, their recent experience had shown them how naïve and new they were to raiding and the thought of returning to a town at night, filled them both with anxiety.

     Night drew in and yet the town was still nowhere in sight. They sat on the roadside, hunkered down in a ditch as Colt produced a can of chopped tomatoes from his pack.

     ‘Well, this is it,’ he sighed, ‘the final one.’

     Both men shared the measly can of red pulp; the savage hunger in their bellies nowhere close to being satisfied before they shouldered their packs again and carried on. They weren’t sure what was keeping them going; dogged determination, fear or a muddy cocktail of both but as the latest storm hit in the middle of the night, they shook off the cold and wet and kept marching onwards.

     Morning came and the rain persisted. Both men, soaked to the bone and clutching themselves tightly to try and generate some kind of body heat were still dragging their exhausted bodies along the desolate road. Lifting his head and actually hearing his neck creak, Punk let out a long sigh of relief as he saw the collection of grey buildings scattered in front of them through the mist. They were far too spent to even attempt a raid at that time, and with daytime now here, they were forced to wait until the evening. They set up camp away from the roadside and snuggled down into their sleeping bags, shivering uncontrollably. They pulled the tarp over them, hoping it would keep them hidden from curious passers-by and lying back-to-back, both men passed out completely.

 


	15. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** Warning - This chapter contains scenes of self harm and panic attacks **

     Punk was woken the next day by the throbbing cramps in his stomach. He lay in the fetal position, bundling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his mid-drift but the pain remained, angry and relentless. There was only one cure to his pain and it seemed so far out of reach.

     He turned to look at Colt who was still out cold and carefully removed himself from the tarp, his body feeling heavy and stiff, like rusting tin in dire need of some oil. His head felt as if it was stuffed full of cotton wool and his vision was blurry. He took a swig from his water bottle to dry and chase away the dizziness and some of the ache finally let up, if only briefly. He sat on a rock and watched the misty clouds above him turn black, as dusk settled upon the land. He shivered as the temperature dropped, made all the worse by his damp clothes. Finally, after an hour or so, the tarp rustled and Colt peered out from underneath it.

     ‘Ohh, my head,’ Colt groaned. ‘I feel like I’m hung over or something. Do you?’

     ‘Couldn’t tell you. Never been hung over before,’ Punk shrugged, passing his friend a water bottle, which Colt eagerly grabbed and chugged down. ‘I do feel pretty shitty though. How’s the ear?’

     ‘Still ringing,’ Colt sighed, ‘but I’m starting to not even notice it now. Just wished my hearing would come back, I feel like I’m off balance or something.’

     ‘It’ll be like that for a little while, but it will get better.’ He watched as Colt finished off the water bottle. It had been a small grace that the rains had been so frequent recently as it meant their water supply was good and healthy, even if their food supply was the complete opposite.

     ‘Well, I’m ready to go whenever you are,’ Punk said, rubbing his palms together, eager to get it over with.

     The change in Colt was sudden, as if he had been struck by lightning. Punk saw his entire body tense up and he sat rigid for several seconds, his eyes wide and staring into oblivion. His breathing became short and sharp, his chest heaving like a rabbit’s when it’s caught in a trap. The water bottle fell from his frozen fingers and bounced across the ground, spilling out around Colt’s knees.

     ‘Woah, you alright?’ Punk asked and his voice appeared to snap Colt back to reality.

     ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,’ he mumbled out softly, his words stuttered by his frantic breathing. ‘I’m… I’m good to go too.’

     They packed up the tarp and made their way to the town. Punk could feel the nerves building up already as they approached the urban jungle but it paled in comparison to Colt who’s breathing had not slowed down since his episode back at the camp. They were only a few feet away from a small cul-de-sac of bungalows on the outskirt of town when they paused and crouched down to survey the scene. Everything seemed quiet and Punk felt better to be sticking to the edge of town again. He knew the risks that they may not find anything of note to help them but after the last time, he just needed to feel there was an easy escape for them both. He glanced over to Colt who wasn’t even paying attention. He had his back to the town and his panic was escalating. Sweat was dripping down his forehead, streaming past his eyes, which were so wide that Punk could see the whites of them through the thick darkness.

     ‘Colt?’ Punk asked resting his hand on his friend’s shoulder but this just seemed to inadvertently flick a switch inside him and he snapped.

     ‘I can’t do this!’ Colt bolted to his feet and began running frantically away from the town and his friend, who sat watching in frozen confusion for several seconds before taking off after him.

     ‘Colt!’ Punk called out, trying to keep his voice low. ‘Colt!’ It was no use, however, and Colt continued tearing away, up a steep incline. Punk couldn’t believe it when he saw the distance grow between them. He knew that Colt, like himself, was working on fumes but something else was propelling him away like a rocket up and over the crest of the hill. Punk put his head down and forced his body to pump harder to try and keep up.

     He followed Colt for what seemed like miles but was in essence a five minute run until he saw his companion collapse in a small cluster of trees at the top of the hill. Punk sprinted over, finally slowing down and stopping on the outskirt of the tiny wood. He bent over, placing his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. From inside, he could hear Colt’s frantic breathing but unlike his, it only seemed to be gathering speed.

     ‘Colt? Buddy?’ Punk asked, slowly making his way between the slim, steely birches, his eyes trying to penetrate the dark for any sign of his friend. He could hear him but he couldn’t see him. The sound of his chaotic breathing surrounded him and he felt his heart leap at recognising the sound of panic itself. ‘Colt?’

     ‘I CAN’T BREATHE!’

     The voice was barely human; it was barely animal. It was pure emotion personified and it chilled Punk to the bone.

     ‘I’m here! I’ll help you! Where are you?’ Punk scanned the ground, desperate to find his companion. The sound of hysterical breathing engulfed him, consuming all of his senses but there was something else. Another sound lingering behind it. Low and steady. Like a knife slicing through denim or fingernails slowly dragging across a chalkboard.

     ‘PUNK!’ The scream was directly to his right and Punk crouched low, feeling with his arms until they finally hit clammy flesh. A snake sprang out and bit hard into his shirt, pulling him close with an iron grip. Not a snake; Colt’s hand.

     ‘I’m here, I’m here,’ he gasped out, gripping Colt’s enclosed fist tightly. His mind was a haze on a desolate hill and he stood at the top, lost in the fog, not knowing what to do. ‘You’re having a panic attack, Colt, you understand? A panic attack. You ever had one before?’

     ‘MY THROAT!’ Colt screamed in response. ‘IT’S ON FIRE! PUT IT OUT! I CAN’T BREATHE!’

   The low, steady noise was louder here and it raked down Punk’s spine. As he peered through the darkness, he finally made out where it was coming from.

     Colt’s fingernails. Clawing at his own neck!

     Punk grabbed Colt’s other hand and pulled it away from his throat, the digits wet and sticky. They fought back and they were strong but they were dazed and unfocused and Punk managed to keep them at bay. He screwed his eyes shut, hearing his friend’s wild breathing, feeling the dampness on his hand and smelling the iron of his blood and the panic began to rise in him too.

     Then, suddenly, a moment of clarity.

     ‘Colt, you hear me?’ Punk said but Colt did not reply. ‘Listen to me.’ It was an order not a request and he heard a short pause in Colt’s breathing. ‘Good man. Ok, we’re gonna start with a big breath in, alright? Do it with me?’ He took in a long, loud breath and heard Colt trying the same in time. ‘Ok, then we’re gonna let it out nice and slowly.’ He breathed out through his mouth, whistling as the air escaped through his teeth, long and gradual. Colt didn’t have the same range, his chest being too tight but as they continued to inhale and exhale on Punk’s instruction, he felt the pressure begin to leave his lungs. Punk felt relief flood his body as Colt’s grip on him began to relax, the tension in his body releasing and his breathing finally return to normal.

     ‘Thanks,’ Colt finally moaned out after half an hour of steady breathing. Punk bit back moisture from his eyes, by-products of the adrenaline and panic he’d battled through to help his best friend.

     ‘Don’t mention it, buddy, just breathe,’ he sighed softly, keeping his grip on both of his companion’s hands.

     ‘I’m so sorry, man,’ Colt’s voice broke, ‘I don’t know what-‘

    ‘Just breathe,’ Punk instructed.

    

     Dawn came and Punk was still holding onto Colt’s wrists, too scared to let go in case he started hurting himself again. Colt had passed out shortly after they had restored his breathing and had been under since. Punk, however, was completely wide-awake and had stayed up all night, watching over his friend. As the dull light ate up the darkness, he turned to inspect the damage done, and was relieved to see only several superficial scratches. It could have been so much worse.

     The panic from last night had numbed the pains in his empty belly but as the alarm cleared away, it had returned with a vengeance. The terror was now replaced by dread. They had missed another opportunity to replenish their packs and faced another night of starvation. He looked down at Colt as he slept and was suddenly aware of the hollowness in his cheeks and the dark rings around his eyes. To see his friend looking this way, like a thin layer of skin grafted tightly onto bone, was alien to him and it only piled on gasoline to the fire of fear in his chest.

     He gritted his teeth. He hated feeling so completely and utterly useless. He had been nothing but a burden these past two months and the guilt was eating away at him. He had fallen ill almost to the brink of death and in his mind, should have been left at the side of the road to die like everything else around them. But Colt had disagreed and had pulled him, kicking and screaming, back from the abyss and into the light. He had gone out and singlehandedly found him antibiotics, he had nursed his wounds and kept him hydrated, even when it all seemed utterly hopeless. He had accepted help from someone he wasn’t even sure he could trust and even as a dangerous enemy chased him, he had chosen to carry Punk on his shoulders, refusing to leave him behind even when it would help ensure his own survival.

     And how did Punk repay him? By temper tantrums and mood swings. By getting them hopelessly lost. By allowing them to run out of food and forcing them to go on dangerous raids. By nearly getting his head blown off.

     Punk couldn’t understand why Colt had stuck by him for so long. Where all this unrelenting loyalty came from? They had been best friends for their entire adult lives but had the roles been reversed and Punk had been the one living a secure life in New Chicago when Colt came knocking at the door, would he had dropped everything to join him on a dangerous and uncertain journey? He felt like he couldn’t answer that for certain.

     Punk didn’t trust easily and his whole life he only seemed to piss people off. In school, he was more accustomed to being beaten up by other kids than making friends. Even his own brother had betrayed him to the point that he had never spoken to him again. He had created a tough outer shell very few could crack, but when someone finally did break through, he rewarded them with unconditional loyalty and love. These rare emotions were saved only for his adopted family and closest friends, many of whom he would never see alive again.

     His friendship with Colt was as sudden and it was unpredictable. Never had too men been so different yet it all seemed to just click. He had found in Colt, not just a friend but a brother, one who, unlike his own blood, would never turn his back on him, would never betray him, would never leave him behind. He had been incredibly fortunate to find him again in the wreckage of Chicago and even more so to have him by his side on the road.

     If the roles were reversed, would he follow Colt?

     Truthfully there was only one answer.

     Yes!

     He looked back down at Colt and finally released his grip on his friend’s wrists, placing them gently down over his chest. He didn’t even stir. Punk slowly eased himself to his feet and carefully made his way through the trees to his pack, left abandoned by the edge of the wood the night before. He opened it and inspected what was inside; his bundles of Canadian dollars, his sleeping bag… and the sawn-off shotgun he had taken from Earl back in the last town.

     Zipping the bag up again, he bit hard on his lip ring, dragging his teeth along the metal as he focused his gaze on the town at the foot of the hill. He stood up with purpose, shouldering his pack and setting his Cubs cap on straight.

 

     Colt woke up and immediately placed a hand to his neck. He sat confused for a few seconds feeling the fresh cuts around his throat until it all came flooding back to him. He had never had a panic attack before and it had been one of the most terrifying experiences of his life. He couldn’t quite rank it amongst the many terrifying moments he had had as of late - Cliff’s death, the battle with the Vipers, Punk’s infection, fleeing from the Shield, nearly getting shot – but it was certainly up there.

     There was something different about the whole episode though, something which pulled it apart from the rest and made it all the more frightening. It was the feeling of hopelessness; that he had lost all control over his own body and his own mind. Even when faced with moments where survival seemed slim, he had always managed to find a solution, even if that solution was merely to flee, but last night, he couldn’t see any solution, no answer, no escape. It had been the first, and so far, the only time, where he truly believed he was going to die, and in some strange way, he had welcomed that.

     It had been Punk who had slashed through the shrieking panic and gripped his hand, pulling him back to the other side. He couldn’t remember much, just a vague recollection of his voice, stern and determined, ordering him to breathe, and like a good solider, he had obeyed.

     It was at this moment, that Colt realised he was completely alone.

     He glanced around him, not recognising the strange cluster of trees he was in nor the hilltop they rested on. How did he get up here? Where was he? More importantly, where was his best friend?

     ‘Punk?’ Colt asked, getting up slowly as his knees creaked in protest. He leaned against a tree trunk, his hand covering the sore welts on his neck, the incessant ringing in his ear dully cutting through the eerie silence around him. ‘Punkers?’

     There was no sign of him. Even his pack was gone and Colt became filled with dread. Had something happened to him? Had he gone off in search of help? At the back of his mind, a nasty little thought lingered.  

     _He’s left you behind! You were too much of a burden. He knew he would be better off without you. So he took off and he’s never coming back._

     Colt shook his head, trying to rattle the paranoid thought from his mind. He opened his eyes and realised there was moisture in them. He sniffed and roughly wiped it away, setting his jaw.

     _Don’t be fucking stupid, Scott!_

He wandered out from the small woods and towards the crest of the hill. The grey and brown buildings of the town lay out before him like a cemetery, silent and still. The feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach increased.

     _No, surely not! Not by himself in the middle of the day._

But this thought wasn’t as easily shaken off as the last one and every fibre of his being knew it to be true. Punk had gone raiding in the town alone, choosing to leave Colt behind. Colt felt the panic rise again but he swallowed it down and began marching down the hill, building up speed as he reached the crest. But just as he was about to start sprinting down the slope, he spotted a figure marching confidently towards him. Punk stopped on seeing Colt and gave his signature lop-sided smile. Normally, a smug, self-assured smirk, this smile was full of warmth and instantly Colt felt at ease. He smiled back in return and both men unexplainably began to laugh. It was a release of the tension and fear they had felt the past few days and relief at finally realising they would pull through just fine, so long as they had each other.

     That night, they broke another golden rule and lit a fire. They hung their sodden clothes on the branches of the trees and snuggled into their sleeping bags, cherishing the long lost feeling of heat and comfort. Punk’s raid had been a reasonable success and although it wasn’t much, it was enough to see them on the next leg of their journey. They boiled a can of soup to share and munched on beef jerky for dessert, both of their stomachs purring in gratitude for the bounty.

     ‘I can’t believe you went by yourself,’ Colt scolded with a smile. ‘What if something had happened?’

     ‘I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing,’ Punk replied. ‘And I couldn’t force you to go with me.’

   ‘Listen, man, about last night-‘ Colt started, lowering his head.

     ‘Don’t mention it.’

     ‘No!’ Punk stayed silent and let Colt continue. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never had something like that before and I… lost control.’

     ‘Colt, you were literally this close to being shot in the head,’ Punk pointed out, raising his thumb and forefinger to emphasise the short distance. ‘You had every right to be worried about going back on a raid. You still can’t hear out of your fucking ear. I shouldn’t have pushed you back into a town so soon.’

     ‘You had to push me,’ Colt argued. ‘If you hadn’t gone in today, we would be sitting here starving again. And you know what would happen? We would have to go raiding again. This isn’t some game or camping trip. This is surviving day-by-day.’ Punk nodded in agreement and even Colt himself realised that more was expected of him if they were to make it to Tampa. ‘Thank you for calming me down last night,’ he said, softly.

     ‘You would have done the same for me,’ Punk said, ‘in fact, you’ve already done that, and then some, for me. We’ve got each other’s backs, remember?’

     ‘Yeah,’ Colt sighed, nodding his head. ‘You know what, I’ve been thinking.’

     ‘You and thinking do not go well together,’ Punk teased, which made Colt smile.

     ‘Dick,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve been thinking about everything we’ve come through and all the crappy people we’ve met. Bischoff, Joe and Hank, Orton, the Vipers, the Shield, those dudes back there with the shotgun. I’d heard rumours about how the world had gone to shit but never realised just how bad it was until I got out of New Chicago. People who just kill and rape and torture without even a second thought. Some even enjoy it.’

     ‘We’ve also met a bunch of good guys though,’ Punk argued, ‘the Widows, Amy and Paige, Mason, Luci…’

     ‘There’s been more bad guys than good guys,’ Colt noted before looking up at Punk. ‘What are we?’

     ‘You kidding me?’ Punk asked, ‘we’re the good guys, obviously.’

     ‘Good,’ Colt said, a smile on his lips. ‘I always want to be the good guys. There’s so much that’s messed up in this new world that I always want to do right, even if that means getting ourselves into danger. The Widows didn’t need to share their food or protect us during the fight. Luci came out of hiding and put herself into harm’s way when you became sick, and Mason could have just sat in his bunker all safe and sound and watched us die, but he didn’t. I want to learn from them.’

     ‘I agree,’ Punk smiled back. ‘From now on, we’ll always do what’s right and we’ll help anybody that needs it.’

     ‘Agreed! Now go get some sleep. I’ve slept for almost two days solid so I’ll take first watch.’

 

 

_One week ago…_

     Mason sat in his monitor room twirling absentmindedly in his chair. The bunker seemed so empty and quiet now that his guests had left. While Luci, Punk and Colt had worried about invading Mason’s space and breaking his peace, he had actually welcomed the company and enjoyed having conversation again. He had especially appreciated Luci’s cooking and encouraged her to rummage around his supplies to hunt down ingredients for each night’s meal. She had always kept it sweet and simple, aware that she did not want to deplete his store, but he couldn’t have cared less. With food that good, he could afford to lose a few weeks worth of supplies. His mind drifted to the trio all the time as he wondered about them out on the road. Were they safe? Had they managed to evade the men who were hunting them down? Had Punk finally found that girl in Tampa he had mentioned to him one sleepless night in the communal room?

     His thoughts were interrupted as one of the screens in front of him went dark. He sat up and fiddled around with the wires but it soon became evident it was an issue with the camera itself.

     ‘Damn it all,’ he swore as he shoved on his jacket and made his way to the nearest entrance to the camera. It had been the same one they’d used the night he had rescued Colt, Luci and Punk from the Shield. He pulled himself up the ladder and unlocked the hatch, slowly raising it up as he searched his surroundings. Finding the coast clear, he hobbled out of the secret entrance and marched over to the tree where his camera was situated.

     Or _had been_ situated. All that remained was a frayed wire. He scratched his head in confusion as he stared up at the empty void.

     A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and his heart skipped a beat. He stood frozen as the large hand kept an iron grip on him.

     ‘Well, well, well,’ a commanding voice spoke and Mason turned to face a large set man with long, black hair. ‘Look at that, you were right, Dean. Luci and the boys were helped by the Old Man of the Mountain himself.’

     ‘Na, just some kind of tunnel rat,’ Dean emerged out of nowhere and spat at Mason’s feet.

     ‘Over here,’ Seth called from the hill and they joined him, dragging a terrified Mason with them. Seth had located the secret entrance and was admiring the handiwork. ‘Very impressive, Old-Timer. No wonder we couldn’t find you. We spent weeks hunting these woods but didn’t think to actually look underground. Kudos. Shall we take a look?’ Seth motioned to his two companions to enter the bunker.

     Dean took the lead and slid down the ladder to the bottom. As Roman, Seth and Mason entered the communal room, he returned from the opposite doorway.

     ‘Nobody here,’ he stated to the others.

   ‘Brooks and Colton, where did they go?’ Roman grabbed Mason by the shirt and growled right into his face.

     ‘I don’t know what y’all are talking about,’ Mason put on a brave face but it earned him a swift, powerful punch to the jaw.

     ‘Don’t you lie to me, old man,’ Roman’s demeanour were calm and cool but the threat was evident.

     ‘I really don’t know,’ Mason yelled back. ‘I heard them say something about Tampa.’

     ‘Old news. You’re holding something back,’ Roman snarled. ‘I think that cute little sideshow with Luci was just to distract us, lead us on a wild goose chase so Brooks and Colton could get away. I think you helped to devise that plan. I think you know exactly which way they went.’

     ‘I got nothing to say to you,’ Mason spat back, his face rigid and determined. Roman kept eye contact with him and slowly he began to smile, a vicious, predatory smile. He let go of Mason’s shirt.

     ‘He’s all yours, Dean.’ Mason watched as Roman and Seth made a quick exit, leaving him alone in the communal area with the blonde haired man. He had a lighter in his hand and was swinging the lid back and forth, sparking up the flame before snuffing it out. It was a normal, everyday gesture but in his hands, it held malice.

     ‘Cute toy,’ Dean said, coolly, motioning to Mason’s crude gas stove. ‘Can I give it a go?’ Mason took a step forward but Dean had already switched on the gas. He did not, however, press the button to ignite it. ‘How long do you think I should leave it before it fills this entire room?’

     ‘Don’t be stupid-‘ Mason warned Dean.

     ‘Oh, you’re calling me ‘stupid’ now?’ Dean asked, nonchalantly leaning against the stove as the gas fumes filled the air around them.

    ‘You’ll blow us both to smithereens,’ Mason yelled, a hint of fear in his voice. Dean merely shrugged, not seeming to mind if he caused his own demise in the slightest. ‘You’ll never find them if you’re dead.’

     ‘My brothers are safely outside,’ he pointed out, ‘they will carry on our mission, with or without me.’

     ‘You really want to throw away your young life? For what? To scare an old man?’

     ‘Maybe,’ Dean chuckled, his demeanour still laid back and carefree. ‘I’ll do anything for a laugh.’

     ‘This isn’t funny!’ Mason yelled back, the smell of gas invading his nostrils at the other side of the room now. He felt a thick bead of sweat run down the side of his face.

     ‘I think it’s hilarious,’ Dean countered. ‘I’ve always wanted to go out with a bang. Literally.’ Mason gulped as he saw the mad, frenzied glare behind those cold, blue eyes.

     ‘You think this is scaring me?’ Mason cried. ‘It’s not!’

     ‘That little croak in your voice tells me otherwise,’ Dean smirked. He lifted his hand, showing the lighter he had been playing with moments before, his thumb resting lightly on the lid. ‘I hope you made your peace with God, Old-Timer.’ He began to lift the lid back.

     ‘STOP!’ Mason screamed and Dean paused, the grin on his face growing wider. Both stood, staring the other one down. One calm and collected, the other breaking down and sweating.

     ‘You got something to tell me?’ Dean asked in his slow drawl.

     ‘East,’ Mason sighed, feeling shame wash over him for being so weak. ‘They went east through Kentucky. They plan on heading south through Georgia.’

     ‘See, wasn’t that easy?’ Dean grinned, pocketing his lighter and switching the gas off. ‘That’s what we figured too.’

     ‘You already knew?’ Mason stuttered with wide eyes.

     ‘Made sense,’ Dean shrugged. ‘Luci headed west and she was trying to lure us away.’

     ‘Then why? Why do this to me?’

     ‘It was fun,’ Dean smirked. ‘Look how easy it was to get you to betray your so-called friends. You’re pathetic.’

     Mason felt the guilt swallow him whole. Dean’s words stung because they were true.

     ‘And Luci-?’ he asked, afraid for the answer.

     ‘She’s dead. Slit her lying throat myself,’ Dean said, not a sign of emotion in his voice. ‘You’ll be reunited with her soon enough. Then when Brooks and Colton join you, you can have a little party.’ Mason’s blood turned ice cold, tears filling his eyes. ‘First up,’ Dean smiled, throwing his arm around Mason’s trembling shoulders, ‘we need to talk about that impressive food store you got back there.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have guessed, I am in complete denial of the breakdown of CM Punk and Colt Cabana's friendship irl. It honestly breaks my heart! Part of the reason I wrote this fic was to rewrite that part of history hence why there's no such thing as the WWE in this universe. 
> 
> On another note, I've had a lot of questions regarding the Shield and asking if they will become good guys in this fic. When I started writing, I wanted there to be an ever-constant threat to Punk and Colt and came up with the idea of mercenaries hunting them down. I wanted it to be someone from WWE with a fearsome reputation and who's been more domineering in recent years than The Shield? They will feature throughout the entirety of this fic and they may well have a change of heart towards the end but I'm keeping those spoilers to myself (because I'm mean!). 
> 
> You'll just have to keep reading to find out what happens!
> 
> Before I go, I just wanted to say thank you all so much for the kudos and comments - I'm so glad people are enjoying this long, lumbering epic I've been concocting for almost three years. As I type now, I am only a chapter or two away from finishing Scorched Earth as well as writing another AU starring Finn Balor and Seth Rollins (which I'll be posting at some point in the near future). Having such lovely feedback really gives me the confidence to write and post more so thank you all! xx


	16. The Good Guys

     Punk and Colt walked on side by side, enjoying the break in the wet weather at last, and with content bellies and dry clothes, they were both in good spirits. They had decided to continue following the main road in the hope that they could find where they were and get back on the right track.

     ‘So, have you had any thought as to what you’re gonna say to Miss April once we get to Tampa?’ Colt asked his friend with a sly grin.

     ‘Not really,’ Punk confessed, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m just focusing on getting there in one piece.’

     ‘You know, Tampa’s a pretty big place,’ Colt pointed out, warily. ‘What if she’s not even there any more?’

     ‘Let’s not even go there,’ Punk said, trying to change the subject swiftly. ‘Let’s just concentrate on finding out where the hell we are first.’

     ‘What we need is a sign.’

     ‘A sign? Like from God?’ Punk mocked.

     ‘Hah, no,’ Colt laughed. ‘A road sign.’

     It took them another half hour of travelling but at last they managed to locate a sign pointing out the nearest towns and they took a seat on the ground together and searched each name on the map. As they worked their way through the list, their hearts began to sink once more.

     ‘Find anything?’ Colt asked to which Punk just sighed noisily and shook his head. ‘It will come,’ he assured his friend, patting him on the shoulder.

     They walked on and as Colt joked alongside him, Punk couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. They had talked long into the night while they enjoyed their hot food and hot fire, but the delicate subject of the shotgun hidden away in his pack was never brought up. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to hide this fact from Colt; yes, there was the chance that he may disapprove but surely he would see the benefits too.

     After escaping Earl and his gang and finally fleeing out of the town’s limits, Punk had sat and caught his breath, the gun still gripped in his hand. He had inspected the weapon and was reminded of their close call on seeing the single bullet grimly waiting in its shell. The bullet that was meant for either him or Colt. Yet, instead of throwing it away, like he should have done, he had stuffed the weapon into his pack.

     In these uncertain times any firearm was an advantage, even if it only had the one bullet. The enemy didn’t have to know that particular fact – they would just see the barrel of a gun pointing at their chest and fear would do the rest. His strength, quickness and trusty lead pipe had got them so far but as demonstrated the other night, they needed something with more bite if they were to survive.

     He had cradled the weapon in his arms while raiding by himself that previous afternoon and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt powerful again. Unlike the man who had gone on his first raid only days ago, and had cowered in the shadows with his heart thumping in his chest, Punk had now dashed through the town, walking with a self-assured swagger that he hadn’t used since the Event. He felt like his old self again, no longer afraid, and he had to admit, he rather liked it.

     Maybe that was what was bothering him and why he couldn’t tell Colt. That feeling the other day had created a cognitive dissonance in his mind – how could he feel this good when it was against his own morals? Maybe he was afraid that by telling Colt, he would chastise him for his hypocrisy and Punk was in no mood for that right now.

     As the day turned into night and night into another day, the miles swept past them until yet another town loomed into sight. Inspecting their tiny haul, Punk made the decision to sneak off for another raid. He knew that Colt was keen to prove himself and wanted to join him for the next one, but something didn’t sit right with him about that. Perhaps it was remembering that terrified state that Colt had worked himself into - the sound of his friend scratching at his own throat still haunted Punk. Or maybe, it was simply the fact that he wanted to experience that confidence again, marching with the shotgun, feeling like Rowdy Roddy Piper in ‘They Live’

     They settled down for the night, opting not to light a fire this time to be on the safe side. Punk insisted on taking first watch and sat back against a tree with his chin resting on his fists, waiting patiently until he heard that familiar, drawn out breathing, signaling that Colt was fast asleep. Silently, Punk stood, grabbed his pack and headed out into the night.

     The air was pleasantly mild and Punk unzipped his leather jacket as he marched through the desolate fields towards the shadowy buildings huddled nearby. It was a small town, it would have barely supported a population of 5,000 before the Event and he knew it was unlikely he would score a decent haul, unless he ventured further into the center. It made the butterflies flutter in his stomach, but he had his ace up his sleeve.

     Once he was reasonably close to the edge of the town, he knelt down and opened up his pack, reaching in for his weapon. He suddenly stopped as his sharp ears picked up the sound of footsteps approaching him from behind. He turned, his hand on the barrel of the shotgun, about to yank it free when he recognised the frame coming towards him.

     ‘You really thought I’d let you go by yourself again?’ Colt asked. Punk quickly closed his bag up.

     ‘I didn’t want to force you back on a raid so soon,’ he admitted, a half-truth.

     ‘I told you before, we’re in this together,’ Colt scolded his friend. ‘And as much as this terrifies me, I have to get over it. For our own good.’

     Punk nodded. ‘I’m glad to have you here, buddy.’ That was the full truth. Just having his friend by his side made him feel more at ease.

     They warmed up by exploring the nearest buildings and finding only one can of hotdogs, they agreed it was best to head further in. The gamble paid off and they amassed a haul to be proud of. With glee, they shared the bounty between their packs and although to most people, it was hardly enough for a picnic, to the two hungry travellers, it was a feast.

     ‘We’ve enough food here to go back to the back lanes for a while,’ Colt exclaimed, ‘once we know where we are, of course.’

     ‘Good,’ said Punk, ‘I’ve been uncomfortable, being out in the open like this.’

     Buoyed by their success and with another hour before daybreak, Punk suggested they try one more house. They chose a small bungalow snuggled at the end of a street. The town had proven to be deserted so neither Punk nor Colt felt any threat. They found the back door unlocked and entered quietly. As luck would have it, the door led to the kitchen and they immediately began to raid the cupboards. Unlike the other buildings, however, food supplies were surprisingly low in this particular abode. Punk and Colt felt would have felt their hearts sink, if they hadn’t just jumped into their throat on hearing a harsh voice to their left.

     ‘Get out of here right now!’

     Both men turned and faced a lone man brandishing a large butchers knife. He was slightly older than the pair with a balding head and what remained of his hair was silver-grey. His plaid shirt was torn open and his jeans were caked in dirt.

     No, not dirt.

     Blood!

     In fact, every inch of the man was covered in blood. It was splattered across his chest and strewn across his hands. It made the panic stir in both Punk and Colt.

     But there was something else that Punk noticed. There was a sadness and desperation behind that crazy look in his eye and his entire body trembled from his shoulders to the fingers clasped around the knife.

     ‘Listen, man-‘ Colt started.

     ‘You deaf or something! I said GET OUT!’ the man screamed again. Colt was about to retort when Punk grabbed his shoulder to silence him.

     ‘Hey, we’re not going to hurt you,’ Punk said in a soft voice to the man and raised his hands.

     ‘Please, just leave,’ the man yelled, his throat starting to crack into sobs as tears filled his eyes.

     ‘We’re the good guys, we were only looking for supplies,’ Punk said in the same soft tone. ‘Look,’ he pulled the lead pipe from his belt and softly placed it on the ground before taking a step back.

     ‘We don’t have anything so you can go,’ the man said, his grip on the knife faltering.

     ‘We? There’s more of you?’ Punk asked.

     ‘My, my wife…’ he started to say before his shoulder wracked with emotion.

     ‘She’s hurt, isn’t she?’ Punk asked, taking a tentative step towards the man, who nodded. ‘Listen, we have medicine and my friend, Colt here, can stitch a wound pretty good. We can help you, if you let us.’ He took another step forward and the man raised his knife again but Punk could see the conflict in his expression. After five long seconds, he lowered the weapon.

     ‘Please help her,’ he sobbed, dropping the knife to the ground with a clatter.

     ‘Colt,’ Punk turned to his friend.

     ‘On it,’ he said and took the first aid kit from his pack. ‘Where is she?’

     ‘I’ll….I’ll show…you,’ the man replied between fits of sobs.

     Through the door was the living area where they found the man’s wife, lying, shivering on the sofa. She was clearly in a lot of pain as blood seeped her side. Colt dashed over and crouched down beside her.

     ‘Trevor?’ the women asked her husband, seeing the two large, scruffy strangers in the room.

     ‘It’s ok, sweetie, they’re here to help,’ the man, Trevor, replied.

     ‘Hi, I’m Colt,’ Colt introduced himself. ‘I’m gonna do what I can to help you get better, alright?’

     ‘Yes,’ she stuttered back, her voice weak and raspy. ‘My side,’ she said and tried to raise her hand to motion where the injury was, although it was blatant.

     ‘Just relax,’ Colt soothed her, resting his hand gently on hers to set it back down against the sofa. He gingerly raised the woman’s shirt and hitched a breath on seeing a nasty wound tearing down her side. ‘What happened?’

     ‘She was stabbed,’ Trevor replied. ‘I tried to help but…’

     ‘Dad?’ a little voice caught all three men’s attention and they turned to see a small boy around seven years old, standing in a doorway leading to an adjoining room.

     ‘It’s ok, Danny,’ Trevor dashed over to the young boy and bundled him back into the room. ‘Everything is ok. Just try and get some rest ok. Daddy is helping these two men help Mummy, ok?’

     ‘Ok,’ the little boy said, turning around.

     ‘Good boy,’ Trevor smiled softly. ‘You be a man now and look after your little sister for me.’

     Punk and Colt exchanged a look. They had met plenty of people on their journey but had never come across children, especially none as young as the boy they had just seen. The road was filled with danger and treachery – no place for kids! They suddenly had more urgency to their mission.

     ‘Punk, I need your help,’ Colt said and his friend was instantly by his side.

     ‘What can I do?’ he asked, standing by for instructions.

     ‘I need to stop the bleeding. Hold these against the wound and apply pressure.’ He passed Punk some sterile rags and together they held them against the leaking tear. The woman hissed out in pain and Colt looked up at her with a warm smile. ‘This will sting a little,’ he said, trying to relax her. ‘What’s your name by the way?’

     ‘Tracey,’ she gasped out.

     ‘Pretty name, Tracey,’ Colt replied. ‘Tell me about your kids.’

     ‘Danny is my eldest,’ she said, a soft smile on her lips. ‘He’s seven and looks just like my father. Beatrice is my daughter, named after Trevor’s grandmother. We just call her Bea.’

     ‘Bea, that’s cute,’ Colt beamed, ‘how old is she?’

     ‘She’ll be four in January,’ Tracey said and the smile faded, ‘She wanted a bike with ribbons on the handlebars.’

     ‘Sounds great, she would love that I’m sure,’ Colt said. He looked over to Punk who looked like death warmed up. He could understand why. The rags they were holding were rapidly turning dark red. He handed Punk a new cloth and exchanged his own for a clean one and they went back to applying pressure to the wound.

     ‘Where are you from Tracey?’ Colt asked, trying to keep the conversation going to help calm her down.

     ‘I’m from Connecticut,’ she answered.

     ‘We were trying to get back there to check on her family,’ Trevor added and Colt realised his kind words were calming him down too.

     ‘You don’t live there?’ he asked the pair.

     ‘No, we live near Knoxville. I was born and raised in Tennessee,’ Trevor replied, although this was clear from his thick accent.

     ‘How did you guys meet?’ Colt asked, the casual conversation juxtaposing the feeling of wet blood on his fingers.

     ‘In college,’ Tracey smiled, sighing contently. ‘We met at mutual friend’s party. He poured me a lemonade, we got talking and discovered we had a lot in common.’

     ‘It was love at first sight,’ Trevor smiled. He walked over and grabbed a hold of her other hand and held it tenderly but firmly in his own. ‘I remember thinking at the time, she was the most beautiful woman in the world.’

     ‘Aww, that’s adorable,’ Colt beamed, hiding his fear behind his smile. The couple stared lovingly into each other’s eyes for a few moment and Colt could swear it was almost like a silent goodbye. He checked the wound before applying more pressure, making Tracey wince.

     ‘Are you married, Colt?’ she asked, trying to keep her mind off the pain.

     ‘Me? No!’ Colt scoffed. ‘I’m married to my job. And the road. Never found a way to fit a woman into my life.’

     ‘Must be lonely,’ she noted with a sigh.

     ‘It can be, but I always figured something would work out eventually. Maybe when I retired.’ He stopped and thought for a moment. ‘I suppose that’s me kinda retired now…’

     ‘So you’d better keep your eyes peeled or the right girl will pass you by.’

     ‘I guess. In the meantime, I’ve still got Punk over here,’ he motioned to his friend with a nod of the head. ‘He’s more of a ladies’ man – we’re actually on our way to Tampa to find his girl.’

     ‘Really?’ Tracey asked and her eyes widened.

     Punk didn’t have the same bedside manner that came to Colt naturally and he looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights when Tracey looked his way. He was afraid that his pale face and wide eyes would give away just how serious her wound really was.

     ‘Uh…yeah,’ he stammered back before quickly looking down at the cloth again.

     ‘Don’t be shy, tell me about her,’ she insisted. Punk looked to Colt for help but he just nodded for him to continue. He nibbled his lip ring for a few moments before giving in.

     ‘Her name is April,’ he started awkwardly. ‘She’s 24, or at least she was the last time I saw her. Suppose she’s 25 now… and she’s Puerto Rican, but grew up in New Jersey. She’s tiny, really small. Sometimes when we’re together, I’m worried someone will call the cops and I’ll be pulled up for dating a minor.’ He gave a soft laugh and started to feel more at ease. ‘I love that about her though. I love the fact I can hold both of her tiny hands in mine, or that when she’s being stubborn (which is pretty much all the time) I can just throw her over my shoulder.’

     ‘Is she pretty?’ Tracey asked, noting the smile creep up his face.

     ‘Oh beautiful,’ Punk said without hesitation. ‘Tanned skin, thick, glossy hair – I’m always running my hands through it. Sometimes I don’t even know I’m doing it. Her eyes, they’re brown and so dark you can get lost in them, but they always have this devilish spark in them. And her smile…’ He looked down at the lips inked on his wrist. ‘I love her laugh; it’s so infectious. She laughs out loud at her own jokes. She thinks she’s so funny. I pretend like she’s not just to annoy her but honestly nobody makes me laugh or smile as much as she does.’

     He had become lost in his description of April and it was almost as if he had risen out of his own body and was watching this whole scene play out from above.

   ‘I’m not the easiest guy to get on with. My mood ranges from dark grey to black and I have a very short fuse. I often lash out even at my friends. I can’t count the number of times I’ve lost control and picked fights with random guys for the smallest of things. But something’s different when I’m with her. It’s like the clouds part and the sun comes out. The greyness around me just disappears and everything becomes warm and covered in light. She brightens my mood, no matter how bad my day is or how angry I feel. It’s like she makes me a better man.’

     He came crashing back into himself and looked up to see all three sets of eyes on him. He suddenly became aware of a lump of emotion in his throat and felt a wave of embarrassment come over him.

     ‘She sounds wonderful,’ Tracey smiled at him, but he couldn’t meet her gaze. ‘You must really love her.’

     ‘She is pretty wonderful,’ Punk answered simply.

     ‘How long have you two been together?’

     Punk chewed on the inside of his bottom lip, feeling moisture gather in his eyes. ‘We’re not,’ he bit out and sensing Tracey’s confusion, he added. ‘We’ve known each other for a couple of years and we’ve fooled around a couple of times, but life kept getting in the way. First there was Maria then she was with Jay, then I was with Beth… it just never seemed to work out.

     ‘We were together in Canada at this event, and for the first time, she was single, I was single and we hooked up, like we do. But something felt different this time, like a switch went off inside me and I realised how stupid I’d been. Why was I letting this amazing woman walk away from me again? I loved her; I’d always loved her.

     ‘She was on an early morning flight to Tampa and I was meant to be going back to Chicago around noon. Instead, I booked a late afternoon flight to Tampa and I was gonna surprise her at her door and finally tell her how much I loved her. I wanted to stop with the fucking games and just be with her, body and soul. I didn’t care that we lived hundred of miles apart, I didn’t care that we’re both on the road 24/7, I just wanted to be with her, and only her.’

     A pause lingered in the room and Punk tried to keep his emotions in check.

     ‘What happened?’ Tracey asked, breaking the tension around them.

     ‘Life got in the way,’ Punk said, sadly.

     With his head firmly bowed, Punk tried to ignore their gazes, especially Colt’s who he could feel burning a hole in his temple. He had never bared his soul like this to him before and he felt put on the spot. Colt instantly sensed his friend’s unease and turned to him.

     ‘Hey, buddy,’ he said, softly, ‘you wanna head outside for some air?’

     ‘But… you need me here,’ Punk replied.

     ‘Not anymore,’ Colt smiled and motioned to the rags. Punk looked down and to his relief, he saw that the blood had finally stopped and was clotting up nicely. ‘I just need to sterilise it, which will sting like a bitch (pardon my French) and stitch it up, which will also sting like a bitch (pardon my French).’

     ‘I can handle it,’ Tracey said, her voice stronger than before. ‘Just stay with me, honey,’ she turned to Trevor who squeezed her hand in reply. Punk looked on at this scene with a lump in his throat and without saying a word, quickly stood up and walked out of the room.

 

     Around forty minutes later, Punk was sitting on the front steps of the bungalow, his face buried in his tattooed hands, when he felt someone take a seat beside him. He glanced up and saw Colt who stared ahead into the growing dawn around them.

     ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were in love with her?’ he asked.

     ‘Was this whole trip to Tampa not enough of a grand gesture for you?’ Punk replied.

     ‘You’ve fallen really hard for this girl, huh?’ Colt finally looked over to his friend and could see him forcing back his sobs.

     ‘What if she’s not there, Colt?’ finally Punk turned to his friend and his eyes were watery. Colt put an arm around his companion’s shoulders and pulled him in for a hug.

     ‘We’ll find her,’ he promised, patting his friend’s shoulder comfortingly. ‘I swear, we’ll find her. For crying out loud, you two deserve each other after all the shit you’ve been through.’

 

     Trevor was so grateful for Colt and Punk’s help that he insisted they stay with them until nightfall and share a meal with the whole family. The two men gratefully accepted but only on the condition that they use food from their own supply. They didn’t want to be responsible for taking food from the mouths of children.

     Colt had done a brilliant job with Tracey and after cleaning and stitching her wound he had given her some painkillers to help make her more comfortable. As they all sat down to dinner on the floor of the living room, Colt happily watched as Tracey hugged her children who snuggled next to her on the sofa. He tried to ignore the voice at the back of his head asking what would have happened had he and Punk not entered that last house on their raid and never bumped into Trevor.

     While they ate, the two groups shared their stories. ‘We had travelled as close to Connecticut as we could manage but the conditions up there are unbelievable,’ Trevor explained. ‘The rumours going round about the East Coast, especially around New England, are sadly very true. The entire area has been completely destroyed. Nothing has survived up there not even the small towns like this one. The whole landscape has been flattened and the land has been scorched beyond repair. The only thing remaining is black soot, covering the earth as far as the eye can see.

     ‘We got as far north as West Virginia before we were forced to turn back. It was far too dangerous, especially for children, so we ventured south again. We’ve heard rumours about Florida. Apparently there is some kind of Garden of Eden there, where there is enough to eat and we could live comfortably. I thought the good Lord had made this place specially for us.’

     Punk knitted his eyebrows. It was the second time he had heard such rumours about Florida and he began to wonder if there was any truth to these seemingly ridiculous tales. He would find out soon enough, he supposed.

     ‘We had just arrived in this little town here and came across a small group of men around a campfire. Now, please understand that we had met so many people on our travels and every single one of them was so kind and generous. They would see the kids in the back and offer us clean clothes and supplies and in return we would share our food with them. We had lived on my parent’s farm and had enough food stocked up to last for months and we were more than happy to share with those less fortunate than us. Most of the people we met were like you two; small groups of people trying to survive as best they could. More often than not, they were starving and happy to trade.

     ‘Admittedly, we had become too trusting. We approached this group of men and we asked to share their fire and we would share a meal. They look one look in the back of our cart and they suddenly turned violent. They brought out weapons and forced my wife and I away from our cart and horses. I was scared for my family’s safety so I did not fight back – I let them take it.

     ‘It all seemed fine until they grabbed a hold of our children sleeping in the back. They handled them so roughly that they were both screaming and they threw them both, even tiny little Bea here onto the ground into the dirt. Tracey couldn’t stand it and ran over. One of the men told her to shut up and she hit him hard across the face. Before I had to chance to jump in, this slimy son of a bitch stabbed her in the side, right in front of her own children, and they all ran off, cart and all, leaving her just lying there at the side of the road.

     ‘I managed to get her into this building and I was trying to help her but everything we once had was gone. I thank the Lord that he sent you boys or I dread to think would have happened.’

     ‘You can’t dwell too long on the ‘what ifs’,’ Colt said. ‘Let’s just be glad that we arrived when we did.’

     ‘That’s why I was so jumpy when you boys first came into the kitchen. I was worried it was the same gang again.’

     What are you gonna do now?’ Punk asked.

     ‘I can’t move Tracey for now, so we’ll probably stay here. This is a very quiet town and doesn’t really seem to attract many raiders.’

     ‘Do you have enough food?’

     ‘We’ll make do, I’m sure.’

     Punk looked over to Colt and he nodded in return. ‘We got a decent haul from our raid here,’ he said to Trevor. ‘It’s all yours.’

     ‘Oh no, I couldn’t ask-‘

     ‘You’re not asking, we’re giving it to you,’ he corrected. ‘In return, we only ask one little thing.’

     ‘Sure, anything,’ Trevor said, completely aback by these strangers’ kind generosity.

     ‘You’re from Tennessee and we are completely lost,’ Punk admitted sheepishly. ‘Can you point out where we are on the map and how we get to Florida from here?’

     Trevor began to chuckle. ‘Well, I’ll do my best, but I don’t see my being from Tennessee helping you much in North Carolina.’ He looked up and noticed the puzzled looks he was getting from Punk and Colt. ‘You do realise this is North Carolina, right?’

     The two men looked at each other and burst out laughing. No wonder they had been so lost this entire time. They had travelled so far through Tennessee they had come out the other end without realising it. Each time they had searched for the town’s name on the map, they had been checking the completely wrong state! A wave of relief and euphoria surged through them as they realised their rookie error.

     ‘Tourists,’ Trevor sighed turning to Tracey who rolled her eyes, playfully.


	17. 'I’ve come here to chew bubble gum and kick ass… and I’m all out of bubble gum!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 17 cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-17-cover-816166071)

     ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Punk started.

     ‘So have I,’ Colt replied.

     Both men looked at each other, already knowing what the other had on their mind and they nodded in a silent agreement. Getting up from their spot on the porch, they headed into the house, finding their host Trevor attending to his wife, Tracey who’s condition had improved greatly since Colt’s treatment of her wounds.

     ‘Trevor,’ Punk said, causing the man to turn around. ‘Can we have a word with you?’

     ‘Sure,’ Trevor smiled and squeezed his wife’s hand one more time before joining the two men in the kitchen. ‘How can I help you boys?’

     ‘We’re going to go find your cart,’ Punk stated and Trevor gaped in response.

     ‘Oh no, I couldn’t ask that of you,’ he spluttered back. ‘You have done enough for us already.’

     ‘You have to get to Florida right?’ Colt interjected. ‘With two kids under the age of 10 and a wife who’s recovering from a nasty stab wound. Unless you have some kind of transport, you are never going to make it there.’ Trevor hung in his head; clearly this had been bothering him too. ‘We want to help.’

     ‘Thank you,’ he said, softly. ‘God bless you both.’

     ‘You said they attacked you last night?’ Punk asked.

     ‘Yes, an hour or so before you arrived.’

     ‘So they couldn’t have gotten very far.’

     ‘No, especially not with them horses. Ruby and Agnes are stubborn girls – they won’t take kindly to anybody else being behind the reigns besides me.’

     ‘Did you see which direction they went?’

     ‘Main road out of town, heading south. I’m not sure where from there.’

     ‘Cart tracks should be easy enough to find,’ Colt pointed out.

     ‘It’s worth a shot,’ Punk shrugged. ‘If we leave our packs behind we could cover the ground quicker.’ He turned to Trevor. ‘We’ll leave them with you as collateral, so you know we’ll be coming back.’

     ‘Unless something goes wrong, of course,’ Colt said with a laugh, earning a glare from Punk. ‘Which it won’t.’

     ‘I just don’t know what to say,’ Trevor said, shaking his head. ‘Please be careful.’

     ‘We will,’ Punk said, confidently. ‘Go back to your family. We’ll be back by nightfall.’

     He watched as Trevor headed out of the room and back across the hall. Once he knew he was out of sight, he opened his pack and searched inside.

     ‘Uh…what are you doing?’ Colt asked, confused.

     ‘You promise not to be mad at me?’ Punk said, not looking up from his pack.

     ‘Oh shit, what did you do?’ Colt said, worried now.

     Punk pulled the sawn off shot gun from the pack and cradled it over his shoulder. He shot a nervous, toothy grin over to Colt who was standing, stunned to silence.

     ‘Alright, let’s go,’ Punk said and marched out the door, completely ignoring the irate look his friend was shooting his way.

 

     ‘Punk,’ Colt said slowly, walking faster to catch up with his friend as he made his way through the streets of the small town. ‘ _Punk!_ ’

     ‘Hurry up, slowcoach,’ Punk replied, not even looking over his shoulder.

     ‘PUNK!’ Colt’s angry shout, finally halted Punk in his step and he turned to face his friend, his face scrunched up in guilt. He looked like a kid caught breaking his curfew.

     Colt rarely got angry, so when he did, it made those who knew him very unnerved. Gone was the jovial perma-smile on his face and the friendly way he held himself. Now, his eyebrows were tightly knitted across his forehead, his shoulders were hunched forward and his fists were tightly clenched. Although Punk had seen him this way before, he had never been the target of his anger, merely his frustration, and he forced down a gulp.

     ‘Hey, you promised you wouldn’t be mad at me,’ Punk said, trying to break the tension.

     ‘What. The fuck. Is that?’ Colt said, pointing to the gun on Punk’s shoulder.

     ‘It’s a gun,’ Punk stated slowly, as if it was a dumb question. He was treading on thin ice here but the only way he knew how to handle conflict was to use either his big mouth or his fists, and he didn’t want to use his fists on Colt. Especially considering he knew he was in the wrong this time.

     ‘I can see it’s a gun,’ Colt retorted in the same slow, stern voice. ‘Who’s fucking gun is it?’

     Punk scrunched up his face again, hissing in a breath. ‘Earl’s.’ He said it like a question, not a statement.

     ‘Earl’s,’ Colt repeated to himself, pursing his lips and nodding his head slowly. ‘So that’s the same gun that nearly took my head off.’

     ‘Yeah, kinda,’ Punk replied.

     ‘So let me get this straight,’ Colt was now starting to freak Punk out. He was about to explode any moment. ‘I literally got my hearing back yesterday and now the same fucking gun which just about took my fucking head off is currently on your fucking shoulder?’

     ‘Well, when you put it like that-‘

     ‘How long have you had it, Phil?’

     _Shit, it’s Phil now!_ ‘Not long.’

     ‘How… long?’

     ‘Since that night.’

     He watched as Colt’s fists began to shake while he tried to keep his immense anger under control. ‘You didn’t think to tell me?’

     ‘I didn’t think it was important.’

     Colt laughed wryly. ‘You didn’t think that having a loaded shotgun in your pack was important enough to tell me?’ He scratched his hand through his hair roughly.

     ‘Look, I can see you’re upset-‘

     ‘Oh I’m _way_ passed upset. Upset is a speck on the horizon. I am fucking pissed!’

     ‘Exactly!’ Punk said, a stern expression on his face. ‘You’re pissed and annoyed which makes you distracted and we’re about to head into a fucking lion’s den for all we know. Let’s just put a pin in this for now and discuss it later.’

     ‘Ok, so long as you get rid of that thing, right now.’ Colt stared down his friend.

     ‘Are you kidding me?’ Punk shook his head, baffled. ‘This thing’s gonna keep us alive! You heard Trevor; he said they had weapons. We have to fight fire with fire.’

     ‘You really believe that?’

     ‘I took this baby raiding with me the other day and it was like I was a completely different person.’

     ‘Ah, so that’s why you took off again on your own. You, what, wanted to pretend you were some kind of badass?’

     ‘I don’t need to pretend!’ Punk spat, but sensing that now he too was getting angry, he took a step back. ‘Look, let’s see this as a test run, ok? You’ll see what a difference this makes and you’ll see I was right all along, just like I always am.’

     ‘Hmm, yes, just like when you thought we were still in Tennessee?’

     ‘Come on, man,’ Punk sighed. He really had to keep his cool in response to that dig from Colt.

     ‘Fine, we’ll put a pin in it,’ Colt relented, ‘but only until this is over. I am not letting you get away with this.’ He stormed past Punk, making sure to shoulder-barge him as he went. ‘Come on, we’ve got a fucking job to do.’

 

     The tension was palpable between the two men as they walked along the road. Punk had felt anger stirring at first but had quickly shaken it off as he shouldered his shotgun and taken the lead. Colt followed behind, his hands lodged in his pockets, trying to keep him immense fury under control. After their argument, they had followed the main exit out of the town and found tracks in the ash-strewn road. Keeping up a fast pace, they had followed these tracks for a couple of hours now and were alert for any sign of the thieves in the distance.

     It was reaching late afternoon by the time they spotted a camp a mile of so away at the side of the road. Punk sneaked in closer and confirmed it was the gang and they still had the cart and both horses. They had set up a camp with a fire and were busy gorging on their stolen food. They washed it down with whisky, which appeared to be the only thing they had in their own packs and in abundance too. Punk smirked to himself – that would surely work in their favour. He had not been able to get close enough to see what weapons they had so they would have to go in blind on that front. They decided to wait until the darkness came to provide them with better cover, keeping a watchful eye on the camp as they hid.

     Evening came and the men were visibly merry. Their voices got louder and their behaviour more rowdy. One started a fistfight with another over a piece of dried meat, which only stopped when his opponent fell onto the fire, badly singeing himself. The others laughed as he ran screaming, eventually rolling on the ground to put out the flames on his back.

     In the distance, Colt watched with a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach. These men were large, armed and drunk and that made them dangerous. Yet Punk was at ease, almost anticipating the task ahead and he was itching to get going.

     ‘So what’s the plan?’ Colt asked but before Punk had a chance to answer, he offered his own solution. ‘I suggest we wait until they’re asleep and sneak up close in the shadows at the opposite side of the road. We’ll be on the cart and away before anybody even notices we’re there.’

     ‘Solid plan,’ Punk nodded, ‘except, they’re not falling asleep anytime soon. We promised Trevor we’d be back by nightfall and it’s already dark.’

     ‘We also promised him, we’d be safe,’ Colt argued. ‘There’s no point risking our lives for the sake of a few hours.’

     ‘We will be safe,’ Punk shot back. ‘We’ve got this.’ He raised the gun and Colt rolled his eyes. ‘Come on, follow me.’

     Punk started to stalk his way into the shadows and letting out a quiet, frustrated sigh, Colt began to follow him. As they edged closer to the camp, the raucous became louder, pounding into their eardrums. Each time the strange men burst out laughing, a jolt shook through Colt’s body. He could sense the panic rising inside him again.

     Punk motioned to him and they scurried across the road and hid behind the cart. Ducking down, Punk counted all five thieves around the fire, indulging in their aggressive merriment. He nodded to Colt, who sneaked up into the box, keeping himself as low to the ground as possible. He reached up slowly and grabbed a hold of the reigns tethering the horses who had fortunately not been let loose to graze. One of the horses snorted a grumble at feeling a slight pull on its reigns and Colt held his breath but to his relief nobody noticed. Eventually, Punk joined him in the box.

     ‘You know how to drive this thing?’ he asked Colt.

     ‘ _Now_ you ask me this?’ he said, incredulously.

     ‘I didn’t think about it till now,’ Punk shrugged.

     ‘No, I don’t know how to drive one of these things,’ Colt shot back. ‘Do you?’ Punk shook his head.

     ‘First time for everything,’ he smiled and gave Colt a look.

     ‘I’m not driving the cart – I’ll end up getting us hurt, or killed. You do it!’

     ‘But I’ve got the gun.’

     ‘God damn it, just throw it away then _you_ can drive.’

     ‘No way!’

     ‘Fine, then give it to me.’

     ‘Yeah, right.’

     The conversation was violently cut short as Colt was suddenly yanked back by the collar and fell off the box. Instinct kicked in and he tucked in his chin, landing on the road as if he were taking a bump in the ring. The vicious smash he received against the unforgiving concrete however, was a nasty reminder that this was no scripted match. Colt had softened the blow to his head, but not enough to stop the wind being knocked completely out of him.

     ‘Hi there,’ one of the men sneered down at Colt, standing over him with his hands in his pockets. He had unkempt, shoulder length hair and a thin black beard. Colourful tattoos flowed out from under his filthy wife beater across his shoulders and down his arms. Colt soon saw the rest of the company fall in behind him. ‘Now that wasn’t very smart, was it?’ Colt was about to speak back when the man raised his boot high, aiming to stomp it down on his face. Colt covered his head with his arms, waiting for the blow when a shout sounded above him.

     ‘HEY!’

     Everything froze. The man’s boot hung poised in the air like the sword of Damocles, waiting to deliver that fatal blow. Colt slowly moved his arms and saw Punk standing on the box above him, aiming his shotgun at the crowd. They all stood still like a painted tableau, each side not daring to back down yet not wishing to advance either.

     ‘Get the fuck away from him NOW!’ Punk ordered, his voice cutting through the silence.

     ‘What’cha gonna do, big man?’ the guy with his boot inches from Colt’s face said with a smirk. In response, Punk fired the gun in the air. The scream of the bullet echoed through the night and the rest of the gang backed away.

     ‘See that?’ Punk yelled. ‘And I got plenty more where that came from. Next time, I’ll be wasting my bullets on your skull.’ The man who’d attacked Colt let out a small laugh and finally lowered his boot slowly, raising his hands in surrender.

     ‘Punk?’ Colt rasped out, unsure this whole episode was actually happening.

     ‘Get up here, Colt,’ Punk ordered. Colt peeled himself from the asphalt, wincing as he felt his entire body protest. As he climbed up into the box, Punk kept the gun trained on the gang. ‘We’re taking your cart,’ he spat at the man who he assumed was the gang leader.

     ‘Punk, is it?’ the longhaired man smirked. Punk stared at him sternly in return and remained silent, his grip tight on the gun. ‘I’ll find you, Punk. I’ll make you pay for this. Count on it.’

     Punk didn’t respond. He just stood still and poised, his hazel eyes locked onto the man’s dark brown ones as Colt picked up the reigns. By some miracle the horses responded and they sped off into the night.

 

     It took a little while for them to find a way to loop back to the town using a different route and as they travelled, they sat in silence. Punk had stood sentry for some time to ensure nobody followed them and once he confirmed they were safely away he had sat away from Colt, staring out into the night, the shotgun resting on his lap.

     Colt’s mind was a kaleidoscope of emotions. He was still mad at Punk yet at the same time felt so incredibly grateful for his quick thinking. His heart was still thumping hard against his rib cage, churning his thoughts into a frothy mess and he wasn’t sure what to think anymore. In the end, anger shouted the loudest in his mind.

     ‘So how long are you gonna rub this in my face?’ he shot at Punk as they neared the town again. Punk shook his head and looked over as if he had been completely lost in his own thoughts.

     ‘Ok, so I guess that’s the pin been pulled out then,’ Punk sighed. He looked anything but ready for a fight; in fact he seemed pretty deflated.

     ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

   ‘I’m not gonna rub this in your face,’ he said, sounding exhausted.

     Colt was surprised. ‘That’s not like you,’ he noted. ‘You told me I would be proven wrong and I was… so?’

     ‘I’m not gonna gloat because you nearly got hurt,’ Punk bit back and Colt felt some of his anger subside, which annoyed him more as he wasn’t ready to forgive just yet.

     ‘I’m still pissed at you,’ he said, turning to face his friend, briefly. ‘You hid a dangerous weapon in your pack and was going around acting like some kind of action movie douchebag.’ Punk stayed silent, his chin resting in his palm. ‘Anyway, I thought you were totally against using guns?’

     ‘Look, I fired the only bullet it’s got, it’s useless now,’ Punk snapped. ‘Nothing more than a fucking prop.’ He smacked it off his lap and it landed on the bottom of the box with a clatter. ‘Happy now?’

     ‘Punk, you don’t get it, do you?’ Colt rolled his eyes in frustration. ‘I wasn’t mad about the gun itself. It’s never been about that.’ He glanced across to his friend and they met each other’s eyes briefly. ‘You’ve been saying this entire time that we’re in this together and we’ve got each other’s backs but all you’ve done is hide things from me.’

     ‘That’s not true-‘ Punk started to argue but Colt was not to be cut off.

     ‘What about when your shoulder got infected?’

     ‘I didn’t know it was that serious.’

     ‘You had an idea,’ Colt corrected. ‘It had been bugging you for, what days? A week? Yet you didn’t say anything. If I hadn’t caught you rubbing it, how much longer would you have waited to tell me?’ Punk again stayed silent. ‘Then you refused to admit that we were lost. You went sneaking off, _twice_ , to go raiding by yourself, which is fucking dangerous!’ Colt let out a long, low sigh. ‘I just don’t understand why you don’t trust me?’

     ‘I do trust you-‘

     ‘Yeah? Well you’ve a funny way of showing it.’

     ‘What about you? Why didn’t you tell me about the Shield?’

     ‘Don’t dare throw that in my face,’ Colt shot back. ‘I _was_ gonna tell you. I was just waiting for you to recover first. Were you ever actually gonna tell me about the gun?’ Punk went silent again and looked ahead. ‘Yeah, didn’t think so.’

     A tense silence hung in the air as they entered the eerily quiet streets of the town. The buildings closed in around them, the sound of the horses’ hooves clipping against the concrete reverberating around them, like a ticking clock.

     ‘You’re right,’ Punk said, softly, breaking the silence.

     ‘I’m sorry, what was that?’ Colt really wasn’t letting him off easy.

     ‘I said, you’re right. I have been unfair to you.’ Punk sighed. ‘I’m sorry. From now on, I promise, I won’t keep anything else from you.’

     ‘That means a lot to me, man.’

    ‘You can do what you want with this,’ Punk said, kicking the empty gun over to Colt’s feet.

     ‘Keep it,’ Colt shrugged. ‘You saw the effect it had with those guys back there. It may help us out after all, even without bullets.’ Punk bent down to pick it up and held it in his hands, staring down at it.

     ‘It didn’t feel right,’ he admitted and Colt glanced his way. ‘When I was raiding empty houses, I felt like I was Roddy Piper in ‘They Live’.’ Colt let out a loud laugh.

     ‘You’re such a nerd,’ he teased and Punk smiled softly for a few seconds.

     ‘But standing there, pointing it at those guys, it didn’t feel right at all. I felt like a fucking hypocrite. And when I fired that shot in the air? Damn thing just about knocked my shoulder out the socket.’ Colt laughed even louder and this time Punk joined him. ‘You’re right, I’m not a badass.’

     ‘You kidding me?’ Colt smiled at his friend. ‘You’re the biggest badass I know, and you don’t even need a gun to prove it.’ The side of Punk’s smile rose up and he let out a single, soft laugh. He suddenly felt a heavy weight lift from his chest and he realised how guilty he had truly felt keeping this huge secret from Colt. Now, it was all forgiven and they could continue their journey together stronger as a result.

 

     The look on Trevor’s face was one they would remember for years to come. As they drove the cart up to the house, he had ran to the door and stared slack jawed at seeing the two men he had met only hours ago return atop his cart driven by his beloved horses. Punk and Colt’s feet had barely touched the ground as he flung himself onto them, sobbing tears of pure joy. Both men tried to keep themselves in check as the man cried uncontrollably, thanking them over and over again.

 

     After several hours sleep, Punk and Colt were ready to hit the road once more. Trevor had insisted the pair join the family on their journey, considering they were heading in the same direction but Punk and Colt wouldn’t hear of it. They may have given them the slip for now but thoughts of the Shield still haunted them. The last thing they wanted was to bring danger to the kind-hearted family. At least, they could leave them behind knowing they had a way to get to Florida safely.

     The gang had made a large dent in their food supplies but there was more than enough to last the journey and they shared a large chunk of this with the two Chicago natives. They had refused to take any at first but Trevor and Tracey had sent their young daughter, Bea across with her large doe eyes and the two men were putty in her hands. The grateful parents said it was the least they could do to thank them both.

     As they prepared to leave, Trevor approached them. ‘I wanted to wish you both the best of luck,’ he said and for once, Punk did not respond with his usual retort. ‘Now, you know where you’re going?’

     Colt let out a chuckle. ‘Yeah, thanks for getting us back on track.’

     ‘My pleasure.’

     ‘Who knows, we may even meet you in Florida, or maybe Georgia before then.’

     ‘Oh, we’re not going anywhere near Georgia,’ Trevor said with a look of horror. ‘Is that where you’re going?’

     ‘Well, yeah,’ Colt replied, shooting a glance at Punk who gave Trevor his attention too.

     ‘Oh, I beg you both, don’t.’

     ‘Why, what’s in Georgia?’ Punk asked, shouldering his pack.

     ‘There’s been so much violence since the Event down there,’ Trevor explained. ‘There’s this gang who run the entire place. Folks call them the Bullet Club because they have enough guns and ammunition to open a store. Their leader calls himself Prince Devitt, thinks he rules the state. They’ll shoot down anybody who opposes them.’

     ‘Don’t worry,’ Punk assured Trevor, placing his hand on his shoulder. ‘We’ll be careful.’

     ‘Please do,’ sighed Trevor.

     They went to see Tracey before leaving who gave each of them a thankful kiss on the cheek. Before Punk pulled away, she whispered into his ear. ‘Don’t waste anymore time. Tell April how much you love her.’

     ‘I will,’ he promised and giving each of the kids a high-five and Trevor one last handshake, the two men went on their way again.


	18. No Way Out!

It felt good to be back on their way to Tampa. Colt had noticed how Punk’s mood had lifted slightly since leaving Trevor and his family and he wondered whether it was a high from their good deed, or if it was because they were on their way to April again. He must have been frustrated the entire time they were lost, wasting precious time when they could have been half way across Georgia by now. But now, they had made up for lost time the past few days, their packs were full of supplies and there had been no sign of the Shield for over a month. Things were going really well.

     Their luck only seemed to grow as they rounded a bend and came across a group of chalets nestled in the woods they were currently walking through. After seeing no sign of life, they approached the cabins and inspected them further. There were three of the little wooden houses and from what they could gather it used to be some kind of research facility for those studying the plant and animal life in the forest. They found a deserted laboratory in one building, now run down completely. The ceiling had caved in and ash was strewn across every inch of the room, turning the glass beakers a shiny shade of black. The second building held offices and was in a slightly better state, having had its windows boarded up before it was inevitably abandoned. They found old files kept by the previous occupants, some paperwork was even lying on the desktops as if waiting for the men and women who had worked there to return and resume their labour.

     The third cabin was the best find. Slightly large than the other two, all of its windows had been boarded up and the ceiling thankfully remained intact. On entering, they found a long corridor and opening the left hand door, they discovered a small kitchen and diner. Rushing inside, they pillaged the cupboards and even though there wasn’t much, it was enough to replenish the supplies they had used the last few days on the road. The first door on the right housed a toilet and shower, which by some miracle was still working, albeit without hot water.

     At the back of the corridor, there was another door leading out to a small decking, where no doubt the former occupants would have sat with a coffee watching nature dance around them but the best room was saved for last. As the men opened the second door on the right and entered the room, they gaped in awe.

     The lounge was welcoming and surprisingly warm despite the lack of heating. The window was boarded tightly and the small shafts of light that penetrated highlighted two large sofas. Colt immediately ran up, dropped his pack and flopped face down onto one of the couches.

     ‘Ohhh myyy gooooddd,’ he purred as he melted into the soft fabric. ‘I have missed this soooo much!’

     Punk jumped onto the second couch and sank down into the cushions. ‘Woowwww,’ he sighed contentedly.

     ‘I know, right?’ Colt grinned, feeling his eyes going heavy already.

     ‘How have we survived lying on the ground like animals for so long?’ Punk asked, feeling all the tension and hardness leave his body.

     ‘I have no idea,’ Colt muttered. ‘Can we take them with us?’

     Punk laughed. ‘I’d love to, buddy. Do you think we can fit them into our packs?’

     ‘Want some TV?’ Colt joked.

     ‘Sure, let’s see what on,’ Punk played along and looked at the blank screen while Colt lifted the dusty old remote and pressed a button. Naturally, the TV remained off but the two men were having too much fun.

     ‘Ooh, Jimmy Kimmel is on,’ Colt said.

     ‘Ooh,’ Punk said, matching his friend’s exuberant tone. ‘Who’s his guest tonight?’

     ‘It’s Robert Downey Jr and Scarlett Johansson. Must be promoting a new movie.’

     ‘Maybe it’s that Avengers film they’ve been building to,’ Punk smiled. ‘I’ve been hearing good things. Is the hockey on?’

     ‘Here we go. Stanley Cup final, Blackhawks verses Flyers.’

     ‘We got this one in the bag.’

     ‘Hey, you got any snacks?’

     ‘Let me have a look in my kitchen cupboards,’ Punk kept up the act as he opened his pack. ‘Here,’ he threw Colt a can of cold meat before pulling out one for himself, ‘chips and dip. I also got a pretzel here with your name on it.’

     ‘Awww, buddyyy,’ said Colt but as he opened his can, his stomach let out a loud grumble.

     Punk burst out laughing. ‘Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t talk about all the food we can’t have anymore.’

     ‘Or the sport we can’t watch anymore.’

     ‘Or the movies.’

     ‘Or the TV shows.’

     The mood suddenly felt very somber as they tucked into their measly meals. ‘This sucks, huh?’ Punk muttered.

     ‘Yeah, now all I want is chips and dip. And hot dogs loaded with onions and mustard.’

     ‘And deep dish pizza pie, dripping with cheese and a chocolate fudge sundae with hot toffee sauce.’

     This time both Colt and Punk’s stomachs began to growl loudly.

     ‘Fine,’ Colt yelled down at his belly. ‘We’re stopping now. Happy?’

     ‘Once we find April and get down to Mexico it will all be better,’ Punk comforted his friend. ‘Not the same, but better than this, at least.’

     ‘We’ll be able to eat what we want.’

     ‘And sleep on a real bed, with pillows and a mattress.’

     ‘And be able to see in the dark just by flicking a switch.’

     ‘And stay in a warm, steamy shower for hours on end.’

     ‘And hey, they have hockey and baseball in other countries, right?’

     ‘Maybe, and if it sucks we can always get into this ‘soccer’ thing everybody else raves about.’

     ‘Maybe we could go to Europe. Somewhere warm like Spain or Italy.’

     ‘Or somewhere cold like Finland or Sweden.’

     ‘Maybe England or Ireland.’

     ‘We could travel around, like the old days. But actually see the world this time, not just the inside of gyms and airports.’

     ‘We could go to Asia.’

     ‘Japan.’

     ‘China.’

     ‘We could even go to Australia. I’ve never been there before.’

     ‘Or we could travel around South America first. See Brazil, Argentina.’

     ‘Could take April to see her family back in Puerto Rico. She’d like that.’

     ‘You could take her to Paris; the city of love.’

     ‘And take her to fancy restaurants.’

     ‘Buy her freshly baked croissants.’

     Their stomachs grumbled again, even louder this time.

     ‘Alright, that’s it. No more food talk!’ Punk yelled.

     ‘I’m getting pretty tired anyway,’ Colt admitted.

     ‘Me too,’ Punk sighed. ‘I _love_ this couch.

     ‘So who’s taking first watch?’ They looked over to each other, each looking so tired and pathetic to try and guilt the other into staying up.

     ‘You know…’ said Colt. ‘We’re pretty isolated up here…’

     ‘And we haven’t seen a soul for days…’

     ‘And the building’s all boarded up and secure…’

     ‘I’m sure, for once, we could _both_ get a good nights sleep.’

     ‘We’ve been walking for hours and we’ve found these amazing couches.’

     ‘When will we ever get an opportunity like this again?’

     ‘Then it’s settled?’

     ‘It’s settled. We’ll both get some rest, but just this one time.’

     ‘Oh yeah, just this once.’

     Both men nodded in unison before eagerly grabbing their sleeping bag and snuggling down for the night. They sank into the soft, cosy couches and felt their eyelids grow heavy.

     ‘Night Punk.’

     ‘Night Colt.’

     They both fell into a deep sleep.

 

     Something was wrong!

     Punk bolted up from his sleep, his hair sticking up in messy tufts with his sleeping bag strangling his limbs. Everything appeared peaceful but there was a stirring in his chest that he couldn’t shake. He looked over to Colt and all he could see was his broad back, breathing deeply as he slept.

     Something was definitely wrong!

     Punk untangled himself from his sleeping bag and softly made his way to the door. He could feel the polished wooden floor beneath his feet through the large holes worn in the bottom of his socks. The floor felt warm just like the rest of the room, tempting him back to bed, promising a safe, snug place for him to rest his weary body.

     But the feeling of unease lingered still and he fought back against the temptation as he drew closer to the door. He reached out his tattooed fingers, knuckles etched with the word ‘DRUG’ on them. As soon as the tips of his fingers touched the handle of the door, a scream rendered the air. He jumped back, letting out a yelp of surprise, his heart catching in his throat as silence returned. He stood, catching his breath and waiting for another sound. Hearing nothing, he reached for the handle again.

     The screaming returned. Louder this time, threatening to burst his eardrums. A woman’s scream. A familiar scream!

     ‘Ape?’ he shouted through the cacophony. The scream tore through his head, creating a storm of panic in his mind. ‘APRIL!’

     He burst out of the door into the dark corridor, the air around him filling with the young woman’s screams. He felt fear take over him as his head darted helplessly around him.

     ‘APRIL, WHERE ARE YOU?’

     The corridor was so dark he could barely make out the edges. He chose a direction and ran as fast as he could, sprinting into the foggy shadows. He was surrounded on all sides by the blackness and no matter which way he ran he couldn’t find a way out. The screams continued, taunting him as he tried to locate them. He shouted her name until his throat was torn to shreds.

     Something wound its way around his neck and squeezed tightly. He grabbed at it, trying to entwine his fingers into it and force it away from his jugular but he couldn’t seem to get a grip, as if he were grasping at mist. The pressure on his neck tightened and he struggled to breath. His lungs collapsed and he fell to the floor, coughing and spluttering, trying to get some air into his body. He tried calling for April again, he tried calling for Colt but nothing sounded from his lips.

     Punk’s eyes snapped open and he sat up with a start. As the dream cleared from his head, he found to his horror, he still couldn’t breath. He began to cough wildly, feeling his eyes water and stream down his face. He managed to choke in a small breath, enough to gather his thoughts and he looked around him.

     ‘Fuck!’ he gasped out. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…’

     The room was filling up with black smoke so thick he could barely see the ceiling anymore. He could feel the immense heat surround him, so intense his body was soaked through with sweat and hear the chilling sound of a beast’s roar, trapped behind the door to the lounge.

     He sprang out of bed and frantically started to shake Colt away, fighting to keep oxygen in his lungs.

     ‘Colt, Colt, dammit, wake up, wake up,’ he said, growing afraid as his friend didn’t respond. He slapped Colt’s smoke stained cheek a couple of times and yelled his name but still his eyes refused to open. ‘Shit, SHIT!’ Punk looked around him desperately and grabbed one of their water bottles. He tore off the lid and emptied it onto Colt’s face. The last gasp effort did the trick and Colt woke, spluttering and coughing just like Punk had done moments before.

     ‘Jesus, what the fuck-‘ he cursed as he started to come to.

     ‘Colt, listen to me,’ Punk said with deadly urgency in his voice. ‘The place is on fire, we have to get out of here right this second.’

     ‘Holy fuck,’ Colt exclaimed, seeing the smoke engulf their room. He was up like a light, and ramming on his boots. Punk followed suite and shoving everything else into his pack, he made his way to the door. He lightly felt the door handle and pulled his hand back with a start. The metal had been so hot it nearly singed his fingers.

     ‘Our sleeping bags,’ he said to Colt, who looked at him with an expression of panic and confusion. Punk took the lead and tearing the bags loose from their packs, he proceeded to dump every drop of water they had on them until both bags were soaked through.

     ‘Put this on you,’ he said, handing it to Colt. ‘It should keep you protected for a little while. At least until we get across the hall and out.’ Colt copied Punk and threw the sopping sleeping bag over his back and pulled it up over his head. He looked up and caught Punk’s gaze, hazel eyes large and wide with adrenaline.

     ‘I’m ready,’ he signalled to Punk who nodded, seemingly gathering his own courage.

     ‘Ok, 1… 2… 3!’ Punk whipped the door open and a burst of flame erupted into the room, forcing both men back against the wall. The flame soon settled and licked the top of the doorframe, inching its way into the room but allowing enough space for them to duck under and into the corridor.

     The cabin was a raging inferno. In almost every direction the fire roared and destroyed, its potent, black smoke choking the air around them. Punk pulled his T-shirt over his nose and mouth but it seemed to do little to block out the suffocating smog. The heat was so powerful that he felt like his skin was melting away from simply standing close to it.

     The door directly opposite theirs, which had lead to the patio outside, was a wall of fire and seeing no hope of escape there, they turned to travel down the corridor to the main entrance. As luck would have it, the route was clear and they could see the starless night through the door, swinging softly on its hinges. Punk led the way, bolting towards the open door. Around him the fire raged and pieces of flaming ash, fell around him as if he was caught up in a ticker tape parade. A ceiling timber crashed down to their immediate right and both men jumped to the side, nearly falling into a scorching wall.

     ‘Come on!’ Punk yelled and he picked up the pace. The door was so close now, so very nearly within reach and he could smell the cold air rushing in from outside. From the open door… the open door…

     He screeched to a halt and took a step back, the realisation tackling him in the gut. Hearing Colt’s approaching footsteps hurtling towards him he turned and blocked his path, pushing his friend back by the chest.

     ‘NO!’ he yelled, holding Colt back.

     ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ his terrified friend shouted.

     ‘They want us to go that way,’ Punk bellowed over the fire’s roar.

     ‘Who-?’

     ‘Go back! Back to the room.’

     Colt was confused and his mind was clouded with fear but he went against his instincts and ran back to the lounge with Punk in tow. Once they were inside the smoke filled room, Punk slammed the door shut and stuffed his soaking sleeping bag into the gap at the bottom of the frame. It did little to help, but it would buy them a few more minutes.

     He hoped!

 

     Outside, three figures stood in the shadows mere feet away from the front door, enraptured by the fiery destruction before them. Their cruel expressions, distorted by the flickering lights, never changed as they waited eagerly for their prize.

     ‘So you reckon they will come out this way?’ Dean turned to Seth, his eyes lit up by the chaos in front of him.

     ‘They have to, it’s their only way out,’ Seth chuckled. ‘Like a couple of rats trapped in a bucket of hot coals.’

   ‘And once they come out, we’ll be waiting for them,’ Dean grinned, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.

     ‘And if they don’t, they’ll burn down with the house,’ Roman noted with an approving nod.

     ‘It’s a win-win,’ Seth smirked.

     ‘They’d better make it out,’ Dean growled. ‘I was promised bloodshed.’

     ‘Well Dean, if they don’t make it we’ll let you kick their corpses into dust. Deal?’

     ‘Deal, even though that’s way less satisfying. I want to hear them scream.’

 

     ‘What the fuck is happening?’ Colt screamed at his friend, pulling his sleeping bag tight around him.

     ‘This wasn’t an accident,’ Punk explained, marching over to the boarded up window. ‘I can’t believe they found us.’

     ‘Who?’ Colt asked, exasperated.

     ‘THE SHIELD!’ Punk yelled, turning to face his friend.

     ‘The Shield?’

     ‘It’s too convenient,’ Punk pointed out. ‘Our room was the only one not set alight and the only way out was through the main door. Colt, the door was open, but we closed it on our way in. Trust me, this is their work and they’re waiting outside that front door, waiting for us to run straight to them so that they can kill us with their own hands.’

     ‘So what do we do?’ Colt asked. ‘We’re dead men if we stay here.’

     Punk stared at the flame that had entered their room earlier. It was spreading, growing along the top of the wall and gorging on the ceiling. The flames lit up the green in his eyes. He turned to the boarded window again.

     ‘Help me,’ he ordered, pulling the lead pipe from his belt. He used it like a crowbar, ramming it down the back of a board and using it to lever the slat away from the wall. He heard the rotten wood creak and with a loud bang, he ripped one end out. Colt ran in to help and grabbing hold of the other side of the plank, he placed a foot on the wall and with a sharp jerk, the two men pulled the plank loose. One down, over a dozen to go.

     They turned to the next board and frantically tried to tear it loose. The fire was rapidly engulfing the room behind them, as pieces of flaming plaster rained down from the ceiling. One piece landed on the old TV set and as the plastic melted, something inside exploded. Both men jumped with horror, their hands shielding their faces but on seeing it was nothing too serious, they returned to their impossible task.

     The smoke was sinking down from the ceiling and pooling around them on either side. The coughed and choked as they worked, fighting to keep the deadly poisons from their lungs. The soot rose around them like a swarm of flies, staining their faces and Punk’s bare arms with smears of black, broken by lines of sweat charging down their bodies from the incredible heat.

     Briefly glancing over his shoulder, Punk saw the couch that he had been sleeping soundly on minutes before swallowed up by the fiery monster. He silently thanked somebody else’s gods that he had woken up when he had. Focusing on his task again, he let out a guttural growl as he prised a stubborn board from the wall. Together, they had created a decent dent in the window’s defences and they could finally see the pane of glass in its frame. To their dismay, more boards sparsely lined the window on the other side. Their situation was starting to look very grim.

     Something large within the house collapsed with a loud boom shaking the ground beneath their feet. Both men crouched down, waiting for the building to inevitably collapse on top of them yet it never came. It was a stark reminder, however, that their time was running out.

     ‘I reckon a few more should do it,’ Colt yelled over to Punk.

     The house responded with another large boom making the walls around them shake violently.

     ‘We don’t have time,’ Punk hollered. ‘It’s now or never.’

     The former wrestlers shouldered their packs and gingerly made their way to the far end of the room, keeping as far away from the flames as they could. Both men poised themselves and on a count of three they sprang forward, running full pelt towards the window and in perfect unison they threw their full body weight against the exposed glass.

     The window held and Punk and Colt were thrown back into the room and went scattering across the scorched floor like marbles.

     ‘Again!’ yelled Punk, rapidly pulling himself to his feet. He grinned on seeing the large crack spreading across the glass.

     They took up the same position at the far end of the room and, with matching looks of determination they sprinted towards the window and threw everything they had at the damaged glass. This time it crumpled like a piece of paper, smashing into a thousand pieces. The boards on the other side, splintered on impact and the two friends went tumbling through the air as if in slow motion, the shards of glass and wood suspended like mobiles around them.

     Time sped up again and they crashed towards the ground, landing with a hard thud on the packed earth. Without even taking a moment to catch his breath, Punk was up and pulling Colt to his feet, both men fled into the woods and away from the house of hell.

 

     Roman Reigns stalked among the blackened timbers of the ravaged cabin and kicked away a melted piece of plastic that used to the toilet seat. He turned to Seth who was rubbing his hands angrily through his long, two-toned hair.

     ‘Anything?’ he asked, his voice calm and cold.

     Seth didn’t respond, merely pursed his lips and glared at Roman, defeat and frustration evident on his face.

     ‘I see,’ Roman sighed.

     ‘Great plan, Rollins,’ Dean stomped over the brittle woodwork, smashing through the wreckage as he came closer. Clearly he was not going to let Seth get away as easily as Roman had let him. ‘You promised me that this would work. You said they would come running out of that door like ‘a couple of rats trapped in bucket of hot coals’.’

     Seth, not happy with Dean’s mocking imitation of him, pushed him in the chest. ‘How was I meant to know they’d find a way out?’

     Dean responded in kind. ‘You shouldn’t have been such a cocky bastard and had all of the exits guarded like I suggested.’

     ‘They got out through a boarded up window. How could I see that coming?’

     ‘Through a window?’ Roman asked. He had been patrolling the immediate area with Dean to try and find their escapees while Seth searched the wreckage and had not been aware of the details of their breakout. ‘Show me.’

     Seth motioned towards the far end of the building where the lounge had once been. The room had almost been completely destroyed, both couches now burnt corpses, their springs protruding from their guts like exposed intestines. Only part of the outer wall was still standing and through what remained of the window frame, the three men could clearly see the shattered glass and wood spreading outward across the ground.

     ‘They knew we were here,’ Roman stated.

     ‘How is that even possible?’ Seth grumbled. ‘We completely lost their trail for a while back there. If they hadn’t been stupid enough to leave a campfire for us to find, we would still be trying to track them down. How could they know we were coming if we didn’t even know we were coming.’

     ‘I am sick of this,’ Dean howled, stomping repeatedly on a charred door until it crumpled into splinters. ‘They have made us look like fucking idiots again and again! The guys were goddamn wrestlers – not brain surgeons. Surely they’ve taken enough chair shots to the head to turn their brains into fucking Jell-O!’

     ‘They’re smarter than we give them credit for,’ Roman growled. ‘And that’s why they keep getting away.’

     ‘I’ve had enough,’ grumbled Seth. ‘Let’s just go home, tell Bischoff that we killed them all and get back to ambushing trespassers again like the good old days.’

     ‘Sounds like a plan to me,’ Dean agreed, ‘I’m sick of eating crap out of a can and sleeping on the ground. Let’s just go back.’

     ‘No!’ Roman’s voice boomed. Most men would have cowered on sensing the large man’s wrath, but Dean and Seth were deadly in their own way and were not easily scared.

     ‘Why the fuck not?’ Dean asked, coming in close to Roman and getting in his face.

     ‘Yeah, man, just let this go,’ Seth said.

     ‘I can’t just let this go, and neither should you two,’ Roman argued, standing his ground. ‘After everything we’ve been through you really want to just give up? We’re the fucking Shield! We destroyed Goldberg and his gang. We sent the Bone Street Krew packing. They talk about us in New Chicago like we are legends. Do you really want to see our reputation tarnished by, what? A skinny guy, a fat guy and a girl?’

     ‘Don’t look at me for letting Luci get away,’ Dean shot back. ‘I reckon _someone_ still has a soft spot for her, or at least for her sweet-’

     ‘That was a long time ago,’ Seth bit back to Dean. ‘She can take a running jump off a cliff for all I care now.’

     ‘Maybe next time, dump her before teaching her all of your tricks. Damn bitch is harder to find than a virgin in Wisconsin.’

     ‘Look, I told you that something was up,’ Seth yelled at Dean. ‘I told you she was playing us when we were suddenly able to track her. I told you not to fall for it and go after the other two but no, Dean’s too busy thinking with his dick than his oversized head.’

     ‘Urgh, I don’t want to fuck her,’ Dean argued, scrunching up his face. ‘Why would I want your sloppy seconds? But, you know who did? That old timer back at the bunker. You should have seen his face when I told him that little white lie about slitting her throat. Imagine that wrinkly carcass riding your ex-girlfriend-’

     ‘Guys!’ Roman shouted sharply and both men turned their attention back to him. ‘We’re getting off-topic here.’

     ‘Look, nobody has to know they got away,’ Seth noted. ‘We’ll still have our reputation intact.’

     ‘But _we_ would know,’ Roman said and the other two men paused, taking in a deep breath. ‘Could you live with that humiliation?’

     ‘No,’ both Dean and Seth said in unison, seeing Roman’s point.

     ‘Luci is still out there but we can focus on her later. Brooks and Colton can’t have gone that far. We’ll find them again and this time, failure is not an option.’

     ‘Fine,’ Dean relented, taking a step forward and looking Reigns in the eye. ‘Now, we tried your plan of using Brooks to lure out Luci and it didn’t work.’ He turned to Seth with a scoff. ‘We tried your cute little idea with the fire and it failed miserably.’ He turned back to Roman, a maniacal gleam in his eye. ‘Next time, we’re doing this my way.’


	19. Friend or Foe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 19 cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-19-cover-815942006)

Punk and Colt ran through the night and when they could no longer run, they walked and when they could no longer walk, they stumbled. They refused to stop until they had put enough distance between themselves and the Shield. They didn’t care that their damaged lungs had protested the entire time, they didn’t care that their throats were dried and cracked and they had depleted their water supplies back at the cabin, they marched on. They were so exhausted, their mind so clouded that they didn’t even realise they had been travelling for a solid thirty-two hours.

     They paused on seeing a shimmer in the distance and with the remains of their energy, they ran towards the river and flopped down by its banks. Lapping up handfuls of water, they quenched their aching throats enthusiastically. Once he’d had his fill, Colt collapsed onto his back, his body feeling like a lead weight pinning him down against the ground. He was completely spent and fed up. He lay there, listening to the soft rushing of the river broken only by Punk’s laboured breathing.

     ‘I’m so fucking sick of this,’ Colt groaned, rubbing his eyes with his palms. ‘It’s just one thing after another and I am so fucking sick of it!’ He looked over to Punk who was sitting by the river, scratching his fingers through his hair. His hands and face was still covered in smears of soot highlighting the glazed look in his eyes. From his posture to his vacant expression, he was a picture of exhaustion and dejection.

     Punk’s mind was swimming. Not only was he still recovering from the horror of barely escaping a burning building but he was haunted by that nightmare he’d had just before he’d woken up. The sound of April’s screams still echoed around his skull and turned his heart ice cold. He had tried his best to focus on his own journey and the seemingly endless amounts of people who wanted to kill him but the fear had lingered, right there at the back of his mind. Was she ok? Had she even survived? Was she going through the same dangers that he was; starving, bleeding, hurting? He couldn’t bear to think of her in pain, in an enemy’s vicious clutches, fighting to survive.

     He was growing tired of being on the road. He just wanted to find her and be with her. He wanted to feel her warm embrace again and once he was there in her arms, he would never let go. He would finally be home.

     ‘You still with me, buddy?’ Colt asked, breaking through his thoughts and Punk nodded solemnly.

     ‘I’m just fucking sick of this too,’ he sighed.

    

     Deciding not to stop for long, they only paused to clean themselves up and refill their water bottles before heading back out again. The tension was palpable in the air around them. Having gone for over a month without a single sign of the Shield, they had forgotten what it was like to be hunted. That feeling of dread gnawing at the pit of their stomachs. The heightened sense of paranoia. It all came crashing back and it only served to add to their exhaustion.

     Punk brought the map out while they walked and tracing the route they had taken from the town where they met Trevor and his family he managed to find their current location.

     ‘Prepare yourself,’ he warned Colt. ‘We’re in Bullet Club territory now.’

     ‘Bring it on,’ Colt said, strongly. ‘Bullet Club? I’ll make them my Bullet Bitches!’

     Punk burst out laughing. ‘You seriously just said that? Man, you never were great at cutting promos.’

     ‘Come on, I thought that was pretty good.’

     ‘So you’re telling me you’re actually proud of that?’

   ‘I mean, it wasn’t my whole ‘cold as vodka and you can’t freeze me’ schtick but-‘

     ‘Shhh,’ Punk said, suddenly.

     No, I’m serious,’ Colt insisted. ‘For being off-the-cuff, I thought-‘

     ‘Quiet!’ Punk ordered and Colt went silent. He craned his ears and soon began to make out what his friend was picking up. He felt uneasy as he heard the sickening crunch of fists pounding on flesh and bone and the sound of someone screaming out in pain.

     ‘Let’s check it out,’ Punk said and began to run off when Colt grabbed his upper arm.

     ‘Now, hold on a second,’ Colt warned him, seeing where this was going.

     ‘You said it yourself,’ Punk said, deadly serious, ‘we’re the good guys.’

 

     As if the sound of human flesh being caved in wasn’t nauseating enough, the scene they stumbled across was even more stomach-churning. In a hidden dip, they found three men; two of which were standing tall over a third. Punk’s face turned dark as the state of the third man became clear. He was struggling to his knees, hindered by his arms having been pulled forcibly behind his back and bound tightly with ropes, every inch of his bare torso covered in large, dark bruises. He raised his head defiantly to his capturers, the side of his face purple and swollen while the other dripped red from his hairline to his chin. Thick drops of blood fell from his jawline onto the ground, the earth around him smeared with puddles of crimson.

     ‘Fucking STAY DOWN,’ one of his attackers yelled and threw his boot forcefully into the side of his helpless victim’s head.

     ‘Teach him a lesson,’ the other man jeered and as the bound man crumpled to the ground, the two thugs battering him with brutal kicks and stamps, many of which were aimed directly at his vulnerable skull.

     ‘We have to help,’ Punk turned to Colt who already agreed.

     ‘Use your shotgun, go out there and see if it scares them away,’ Colt suggested to Punk. ‘I’ll sneak around and attack them from behind. Just say the word.’

     ‘Right,’ Punk agreed, pulling his empty shotgun from his pack while Colt darted away.

     The two assailants were so focused on their vicious assault that they didn’t even notice Punk wandering up to them with the shotgun raised.

     ‘GET AWAY FROM HIM!’ Punk ordered and now he had both of their attention.

     ‘Shit, it’s one of them,’ the shorter of the two men said, startled and backing away instantly. The other didn’t seem overly worried however.

     ‘Hey man, it’s ok, we’re on the same side,’ he said, putting up his hands and smiling at Punk, who kept his eyes trained on them both.

     ‘Let me assure you, we are definitely _not_ on the same side,’ Punk said coldly, training his gun on the bigger man. He stood a couple of inches taller than Punk with broader shoulders but that didn’t faze him in the slightest. He had taken down larger before.

     ‘This one of _your_ boys, then?’ the man said to the battered figure on the floor, but he was barely able to register anything. ‘Huh?’ he said louder, nudging the man roughly with his boot.

     ‘LEAVE HIM!’ Punk yelled. This was not going how he expected and he hoped that Colt was in position.

     ‘Look dude,’ the large man said, almost in a whisper as he walked closer to Punk.

     ‘Stop right there,’ Punk replied, tightening his grip on the gun.

     ‘We’re only acting on orders from your leader,’ the man grinned, trying to reason with Punk, who had no idea what he was on about. He remained silent, waiting for the larger man to make the first move and saw a change in the thug’s expression. ‘Ohhh, I get it now. You’re not actually from the Bullet Club are you?’ the man smirked and let out a huge laugh. ‘You had me fooled, man, with the jacket and all.’

     ‘He’s not Bullet Club?’ his companion yelled out, several feet behind him. ‘Then who is he?’

     ‘Some do-good drifter from the road, I’ll bet,’ the larger man replied, taking another step towards Punk who didn’t flinch. ‘Ah wait, that makes more sense now.’

     ‘What are you blabbering about?’ Punk asked, feeling the shift in power.

     ‘Your toy here?’ the man replied, taking another step closer but still Punk stood his ground. ‘It has no bullets.’

     ‘Wanna bet?’ Punk threatened. The man shrugged his shoulders.

     ‘I’m a betting man.’ To Punk’s utter surprise, the man stuck two of his fingers into the barrels of his gun and glared at Punk, daring him to pull the trigger. ‘Go on, punk, make my day.’

     ‘We met before?’ Punk mocked, noting how the man accidently used his nickname. They had reached a stalemate and now he only had one course of action. ‘COLT!’

     Like a tiger waiting unseen in the bushes, Colt sprang out to ambush his prey, tackling the smaller man and forcing him to the ground. The larger man’s attention had been diverted by Colt’s sudden appearance and Punk took advantage, spinning the gun around and bringing the heavy butt down onto the brute’s temple. The man was clearly dazed from the blow and the Second City Saint kept on top of him, landing vicious forearms again and again on his injured head. The larger man fell back but wasn’t done yet. As he tried to sit up, Punk took a running jump and thrust his knee directly into the man’s face. He sat upright, his head swimming for a few seconds before he fell flat onto the ground; knocked out cold.

     ‘Best check your odds next time, asshole,’ Punk smirked.

   ‘How do you come up with that shit?’ Colt asked, approaching him. Punk shrugged, a smug grin on his face.

     ‘I’m the best on the mic,’ he grinned.

     ‘How is that any better than my Bullets Bitches line?’

     ‘Believe me Colt, it is. In every possible way.’ He then looked around. ‘Where’s your guy?’

     ‘Ran off after a few little punches to the face. Some people are no fun.’

     Their attention soon turned to the injured man on the ground who had began to stir. They helped him to sit up, noting how his face contorted with pain as he did so. Colt spotted a soiled gag tied tightly around his head and with some effort untied the rag and gently removed it from between the man’s teeth.

     ‘Thanks,’ he gasped out, running his tongue along his teeth to see if any were missing. He tried to get to his feet but Colt lightly pushed down on his shoulders.

     ‘Just relax, we’ll get you untied,’ he said and the man nodded, clearly exhausted and in excruciating pain. From behind, Punk examined the myriad of knots binding the man’s arms and shook his head. Neither of them had a knife, only a small pair of scissors for cutting stitches, and he would never be able to untie the ropes by hand. He searched on the ground and finding a sharp rock, he began to roughly saw away at the cords. Fortunately the rope was old and frayed and sure enough, the bindings began to snap loose.

     ‘Who are you guys?’ the man asked Colt, his voice low and soft. Now that he could see him properly, Colt made the man out to be a few years younger than them, somewhere in his late 20s or early 30s. He had short, dark brown hair, shaved at the temples, with a neat beard lining his chin. From the one eye that was still open, Colt could see they were a piercing ice blue.

     ‘I’m Colt, this guy here is Punk,’ Colt introduced them both.

     ‘Colt and Punk?’ the man asked and let out a small laugh. He instantly winced; even this tiniest of acts caused him immense pain.

     ‘You ok?’ Colt asked, concerned. ‘Where does it hurt?’

     ‘Honestly? Everywhere,’ the man replied with a smirk on his face.

     ‘You’re not from around here?’ Colt noted. ‘Your accent – is it British?’

     ‘Ouch, it started off so well,’ the man sighed to himself. ‘Here’s a tip, if you want an Irishman to like you, never, ever, call him British.’

     ‘You’re Irish?’ Colt asked and the younger man nodded with a wry grin.

     ‘There we go,’ Punk stated as the last chord came loose and he unwound the ropes from the Irishman’s arms. On feeling his limbs being released, he started to rub some life back into them, wiggling his fingers to get the blood flowing again.

     ‘Who were those guys?’ Punk asked, coming round to face the younger man.

     ‘A hit,’ he replied simply when suddenly his attention was drawn towards the sounds of moaning coming from right behind him. He turned to see one of his attackers, the larger man that Punk had fought earlier, starting to stir. ‘Excuse me for a second,’ he said and without even looking at him, held a hand out to Punk. Punk scrunched his face up at the hand for a second before Colt nudged him in the leg and, rolling his eyes, he helped the younger man up to his feet. The Irishman let out a small gasp of pain as he stood up, one arm clutched around his bruised ribs. Slowly, he limped over to the thug until he was standing directly above him.

     ‘Who sent you?’ he asked his assailant who was rubbing his throbbing head as he lay on the ground. Punk and Colt stayed still, watching the scene unfold.

     ‘The Bullet Club,’ he shot back and in response the Irishman spat in his face, blood mixed in with his saliva.

     ‘The truth! Now!’ he ordered, his words no longer softly spoken but loud and harsh.

   ‘It is the truth,’ the man yelled, and the younger man nodded, his expression deep in thought. He began to retrace his steps back to Colt and Punk, his head bowed when he abruptly turned and, with the speed and stealth of a demon, ran towards his attacker, jumping high in the air. With incredible athleticism he brought his knees up to his chest, almost hanging in the air like a falcon poised over its prey and with an astonishing force, brought both feet straight down onto the man’s skull. There was a sickening crunch and the man’s body went limp.

     The whole episode happened so quickly that Punk and Colt barely had time to respond. They both stood completely dumbfounded by the scene before them. How a man, that had been so injured a second ago that he couldn’t even breathe, could be capable of such speed, strength and agility all of a sudden stunned them to silence. The brutality of his retribution sickened them to their stomachs. Naturally Punk was the first to lash out.

     ‘What the _fuck_?’ he yelled, stomping up behind the Irishman, who had collapsed to his knees and was busy rummaging around in his victim’s pockets. ‘What did you kill him for?’

     ‘He tried to kill me,’ he replied frankly, returning to his softly spoken tone. He didn’t even glance up at Punk as he rifled through the larger man’s clothing. ‘Eye for an eye and all that.’

     ‘What kind of ass backwards philosophy is that?’ Punk spat.

     ‘The one that’s kept me alive since the world went to hell,’ the Irishman replied. He finally found what he was looking for and, with great effort, stood up to face Punk, a piece of fabric in his hand. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t killed.’

     Punk bit his lip ring, thinking back to Orton’s rigid body in the middle of the road. ‘Only in self defense,’ he stated, stubbornly.

     ‘And that makes you better than me, somehow?’

     ‘I didn’t just murder some guy in cold blood as he lay injured on the ground.’

     ‘You really think that he was just going to wake up and, what? Say sorry? Forgive his evil ways, find God and build an orphanage? You want to know what those guys were doing before you two showed up?’ Punk stayed silent, his face rigid. ‘They were hired to kill me, and since they didn’t have any weapons their only option was to beat me to death. You want to defend somebody who was purposely trying to crush my skull? Who was listening the whole time to my bones cracking while I screamed out for mercy? Who was willing to feel my body turn to pulp beneath his boot, watch me die a slow, harrowing death and feel no remorse at all?’

     Punk turned his head with agitation. He didn’t agree with the man’s actions at all but for once, he couldn’t think of a response.

     ‘If I didn’t put a stop to a scumbag like that, who would he target next? Widows? Innocent travellers like you? I took a cold-blooded murderer off the road.’

     ‘So, what, you’re some kind of ‘good’ murderer?’ Punk asked, glaring at the Irishman. He watched as the younger man tied the bandana he’d found earlier around his neck.

     ‘This isn’t the old world where we were all civilised and biding by the rules. It’s the law of the jungle now; kill or be killed, dog-eat-dog, survival of the fittest. We must do things that seem cruel or ugly in order to live another day. You’ll only get so far being a man, you must become a monster,’ he pulled the bandana up around his lower face, revealing a print of a demonic maw, lined with large sharp teeth, and a serpent like tongue, licking wildly. He winked his one good eye at Punk, who decided there and then, he did not like this guy.

     Sensing the tension between the two, Colt quickly stepped in.

     ‘Different strokes for different folks, eh?’ he smiled nervously, wrapping his arm around Punk’s torso and pulling him back from the Irishman. After a few minutes, Punk finally broke eye contact with the younger man and glanced round at Colt.

     ‘Let’s grab the packs and get going,’ he said and walked past the injured man to go back up the slope.

     ‘Wait a minute,’ the Irishman protested, pulling the bandana back down, ‘you’re leaving me here? I’ve just had seven bells beaten out of me.’

   ‘You looked fine to me a few moments ago when you pulled off those gymnastics,’ Punk shrugged, not seeming to care.

     ‘That was a moment of adrenaline, I can barely lift my arm now,’ he replied. ‘From what I can tell, my ribs are cracked, my shoulder’s dislocated plus d’ye really think it’s a good idea to leave a man alone when he’s been kicked in the head that many times he looks like Sloth from the Goonies? Why bother saving my life if you’re just going to let me die in my sleep from a severe concussion?’

     Punk’s face went a deep red and he pursed his lips tightly, crinkles forming over the bridge of his nose. As much as he was loath to admit it, the guy was right. Again. He really hated him!

     ‘Of course we won’t leave you behind,’ Colt told him, suppressing a chuckle on seeing the raw frustration in his companion’s face. ‘Where do you need to go?’

     ‘My family’s not too far from here,’ the man explained. ‘If you get me safely to them, I will reward you both, handsomely too.’

     ‘We don’t want anything from you,’ Punk growled.

     ‘I insist,’ the Irishman replied, ‘you helped me out even though I’m a complete stranger. Bravery and selflessness like that always deserves reward in my book.’

     ‘We weren’t looking for anything,’ Colt pointed out. ‘Just helping out those in need.’

     ‘A rare thing these days,’ the injured man replied sadly. He brought his good arm up over his bare chest and shivered. ‘It’s getting cold, isn’t it?’ he noted, before turning to Punk. ‘Would you be good enough to lend me your jacket?’ Punk glared with a look as icy as the wind.

     ‘Yeah, of course, here you go,’ Colt said and started to pull his bomber jacket off. The man took one look at Colt’s bomber and scrunched his nose up, looking unimpressed before turning back to Punk and giving him a pitiful expression. Punk let out a long breath through his nose and reluctantly handed over his leather jacket. The man’s face lit up into a smug smile as he accepted it and swung it over his naked shoulders. Holding a lapel in each hand, he breathed in the worn leather and sighed contently.

     ‘That’s better,’ he smiled. ‘I feel more like my old self again. Don’t worry, you’ll get it back.’

     ‘Count on it,’ Punk snarled. ‘Let’s get going.’

     As the three men headed out of the dip, Colt turned to their latest addition. ‘What’s your name by the way?’

     The man paused, almost as if he were thinking. ‘Finn,’ he smiled, ‘Finn Bálor.’

 

     The three men walked on, Punk and Colt taking the lead, while Finn trailed behind, groaning out in pain with each step. Punk felt uneasy and didn’t like having the Irishman at his rear. Having seen how quickly he could turn deadly, it almost felt as if they were being stalked by a wolf feigning a limp and ready to attack when his prey lowered their guard. He remembered how the infamous serial killer, Ted Bundy, used to do the same, often using crutches to lure his victims into a false sense of security. As they journeyed on, he kept an alert and wary eye on their new travel companion, his hand never far from the lead pipe jammed into his belt.

     ‘Will you quit it?’ Colt hissed at him as they walked side-by-side. ‘You’re making me uncomfortable.’

     ‘ _He_ makes me uncomfortable,’ Punk shot back. ‘Why did you say he could join us?’

     ‘He was beaten within an inch of his life,’ Colt replied, sternly. ‘We can’t just jump in and save him from those guys then say ‘oh well, see ya later’. If it had been anybody else, you would have done the same.’

     ‘But he’s not anybody else. You saw what he did. This guy isn’t a victim, he’s a killer.’

     ‘So were Amy and Paige and all the other Widows. They mowed down almost half of those Viper guys back there and that was only one fight. They’ve probably been in a dozens of battles like that. What makes them any different?’

     ‘They didn’t kill anybody who was already defeated. The guy was just lying on the ground, he wasn’t hurting anybody.’

     ‘That guy was in the middle of beating a man to death. He even came up to you while you held a gun to his face and stuck his goddamn fingers into the barrel. He was clearly unhinged and dangerous. Finn knew if he let him go, he was signing his own death warrant. The guy would find him and finish the job.’

     ‘So that makes it alright then?’

     ‘I’m not saying I agree with it, it’s just that, say, it was us who had the choice and it was the Shield lying on the ground, would we just let them go? Allow them to keep on hunting us, knowing that the next time they catch up, our luck may just run out?’

   Punk chewed the inside of his cheek. For the third time that day, he found himself unable to argue back and it was really starting to irk him. ‘I don’t like him,’ he replied, almost childishly.

     ‘You don’t have to like him,’ Colt chided, ‘you just have to put up with him until we get him back to his family.’ Punk snorted a long breath through his nose and Colt had to smile as he rolled his eyes at his friend’s stubbornness.

     ‘Are you two planning on resting any time soon?’ Finn called from behind them. They turned to face him and had to admit, he was a sorry sight. They had left in such a hurry they hadn’t had a chance to clean Finn up or see to his wounds so he was still caked in his own blood. His bare torso was a tapestry of every shade of purple and blue; his good hand clutched his battered ribs while the other hung limply at his side. His face was most horrifying however. The left side was almost black from bruising, his eye completely swollen shut and his cheek puffing out in lumps from his eye socket to his chin. Together, with the blood sticking down the right side of his face, he looked like an extra from a zombie movie.

     ‘I don’t know why you keep looking at him,’ Colt whispered to Punk. ‘He’s not exactly easy on the eye.’

     ‘Thanks, Colt,’ Finn sighed, raising his good hand and giving him the thumbs-up. ‘Thanks for boosting my ego right now, I needed that.’

     ‘Oh, you heard that?’ Colt asked scratching the back of his head and feeling his cheeks turn red.

     ‘Amazingly, my hearing survived the beating just fine,’ Finn grinned.

     ‘How much did you hear?’ Punk asked, not amused.

     Finn’s face turned serious and he looked towards Punk. ‘I get that you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you. You’d be a fool to trust a stranger these days. But I swear to you both that I am not going to hurt you.’

     ‘Funny, that’s exactly the kind of thing somebody would say if they _were_ planning to hurt us,’ Punk shot back and Finn sighed with irritation.

     ‘What do I have to do to prove it to you?’ he asked Punk.

     ‘Nothing you do will convince me so don’t even bother.’

     Finn shook his head dejectedly and turned to face Colt. ‘Seriously though, about resting?’

     ‘We’re not stopping until morning,’ Punk cut in.

     ‘It’s not even dark yet.’ Finn pointed out. ‘I need to stop and see to my shoulder-‘

     ‘We can rest here for a little while,’ Colt interjected and Punk glared daggers at his friend. ‘Just a little while. He’s injured.’ He tried reasoning with Punk who still looked annoyed. ‘Why don’t you use your map and see if you can find another water source. We’ll need more with another guy tagging along.’

     ‘Fine,’ Punk spat and moved in close to Colt, flashing a glance at Finn. ‘But be on your guard,’ he whispered to Colt in a voice so low he was sure the Irishman wouldn’t hear.

     With Punk gone, Colt found a small hollow in the woods and the two men took a seat on the hard ground.

     ‘Right,’ Colt said, removing the first aid kit from his pack. ‘Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.’ He helped Finn remove his borrowed leather jacket and instantly Colt could see that he was telling the truth. His right shoulder was hideously deformed with the joint protruding awkwardly from the socket beneath his bruised skin. Colt gulped down.

     ‘I have to admit,’ he said, ‘I’ve never really dealt with a dislocation before.’

     ‘That’s alright,’ Finn reassured him, ‘I can probably do that part myself.’

   Before Colt even had a chance to argue, Finn took a hold of his limp arm with his good one. His face contorted in agony as the sound of a wet pop made them both sick to their stomachs. Finn coughed down his pain as the socket snapped back into place.

   ‘Fuck me,’ Colt uttered under his breath.

     ‘That’s the worst part over with,’ Finn said with a soft grin. ‘The rest is pretty straight-forward.’ He rested his weary body, allowing Colt to take over as he cleaned him up and tended to his wounds. He took the treatment like a trooper, not even needing something to bite on as Colt applied alcohol to the open lacerations on his torso and head. Clearly he was used to this kind of pain and had numbed to it. As Colt worked on his injuries, Finn checked everything was still in working order, moving each part of his body in turn from his neck down to his toes. Every so often he would wince slightly, indicating that that particular body part wasn’t functioning as well as it should be.

     ‘Anything broken?’ Colt asked the Irish native, fascinated by his routine.

     ‘Maybe a rib or two, it’s hard to tell,’ Finn replied. ‘My shoulder’s still a bit stiff but I’ll work on that. Ankle is badly swollen but doesn’t seem to be broken so that’s a blessing.’ He turned to smile at Colt. ‘I think I’ll live.’

     ‘Glad to hear it,’ Colt grinned back. He couldn’t make up his mind about the younger man. He knew that Punk didn’t trust him and his friend had been proven right numerous times, yet Finn was also very warm and friendly, with his softly spoken voice, welcoming smile and sharp sense of humour. The major problem was determining whether this was the genuine Finn on display or a merely a clever mask that he wore. ‘Here, take these,’ Colt handed over some painkillers, ‘they’ll also help with the swelling.’

     Finn accepted the pills and swallowed them while Colt rolled up the bottom of his black jeans to wrap his injured ankle. Sure enough it was badly swollen and a solemn shade of blue but didn’t look too serious. What it needed was rest and sadly, it was a privilege they couldn’t afford right now.

     ‘Guess those assholes took your boots, huh?’ he said, on seeing the ragged state of the younger man’s bare feet.

     ‘Yeah,’ Finn sighed. ‘My jacket and shirt too and made me walk, barefoot, through the woods for days. Tied my arms up so tight I could barely feel them and dragged me along with a rope around my neck.’

     Colt glanced up and could make out the rope burns around the Irishman’s neck, partially hidden by his bandana. ‘Why would anybody do something like that?’

     ‘Guess it’s just how some guys get their kicks. Inflicting pain and suffering on others.’ Finn raised his head to look Colt in the eye. ‘So, who are you running from?’ he asked, bluntly and Colt paused, not sure whether to answer or not. ‘You don’t have to tell me, but I know there’s something up. You’re both clearly exhausted but too scared to rest. I can see that look in your eyes too and the tension in your shoulders. You’re being hunted down and since I’m with you now, that means I’m being hunted too. Seems only fair to let me know what I’m getting myself into.’

     _Damn! This guy is good!_ Colt thought to himself. Nothing ever seemed to get past him and he always made a sound argument. It was difficult to contend with his logic. Colt found himself tongue-tied, feeling that he did have some kind of duty to tell Finn about the Shield, but also hesitant to share information, which could compromise them if the Irishman proved to be their enemy.

     ‘Why should we tell you anything,’ Punk snorted, stomping through the tangle of dead branches and taking a seat opposite Finn. Colt felt his chest fall with relief.

     ‘It would give me a better chance against whatever we’re up against,’ Finn shrugged. He had a talent for staying cool in the face of Punk’s anger, which, ironically, only served to add fuel to the fire. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly in peak condition right now.’

     ‘You don’t need to worry,’ Punk mocked, ‘we’ll have you dropped off and away _long_ before anyone shows up.’

     ‘Your knee is jumping,’ Finn noted and Punk instantly stopped his subconscious twitch. ‘You’re itching to get back on the road again, which tells me they’re not far behind.’

     ‘You need to shut up and mind your own business,’ Punk said, his voice threatening.

     ‘You could use me,’ Finn tried to reason.

     ‘You just said you’re not at your peak condition so what use are you to us?’

     ‘I know this lanscape like the back of my hand,’ Finn informed the pair. ‘I’ll show you the best hiding places where nobody will find you, the roads that nobody can track, the best towns to raid-‘

     ‘We don’t need to raid, we have enough food.’

     ‘You have enough food but your medical supplies are low,’ Finn turned to Colt for confirmation, who nodded. ‘I’ll stock you up with enough painkillers and bandages to last for months.’

     ‘And what’s in this for you?’ Punk asked, skeptically.

     ‘Helping those that helped me.’

     Punk laughed. ‘Real noble of you,’ he sneered.

     ‘You don’t believe me?’

     ‘No, I don’t,’ Punk said. ‘I think you’re looking after your own back.’

     Finn flashed a smug grin. ‘I don’t need to.’

     ‘You’re being hunted down too,’ Punk said and Finn’s expression fell. ‘You said it yourself, those guys were a hit.’

     ‘And now they’re dead. Not an issue anymore.’

     ‘Actually, only one of them is dead,’ Punk corrected. ‘What about the other?’

     ‘He was a weasel and a coward. He’ll be on his way out of the state by now.’

     ‘What about the Bullet Club?’

     ‘What about them?’

     ‘The dude who’s brains you smushed? He said the Bullet Club sent them to kill you.’

     ‘And you believed him?’

     ‘He seemed pretty adamant to me.’

     ‘I have no issue with the Bullet Club.’

     ‘Well, it looks like you have an issue now. Which makes it our issue if you’re insisting on tagging along with us.’

     ‘I don’t have to worry about the Bullet Club and neither do you.’

     ‘There’s something you’re not telling us,’ Punk sat back with arms folded across his chest. ‘And until I find out what that is, I will not trust you or believe a word you say.’

     ‘Well, until I recover or we find my family, you’re stuck with me so we may as well make the most of it,’ Finn argued smoothly, never once breaking his chilled demeanour.

     ‘Let’s give him a chance,’ Colt suggested and Punk shot him a look. ‘If he wanted to hurt us, he would have done it already. Look at me, I was alone with him for almost an hour and I’m fine.’

     ‘Goddammit Colt, he’s-‘

     ‘Injured and worn out. I just watched the guy pop his own shoulder back into place,’ Colt debated. ‘He’s been through hell the past few days.’

     ‘So he says.’

     ‘Everything he’s said has checked out. We didn’t just _imagine_ those guys trying to kill him. Punk, look at him, he’s a mess.’

     ‘I just don’t believe he won’t lead us into a trap,’ Punk said, glaring at Finn who now looked exhausted from the debate.

     ‘You know what?’ Colt rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘I went through the window of a burning building two days ago. Since then I haven’t slept, hardly eaten… I’ve barely had a chance to sit and catch my breath. I’m exhausted, man, and I don’t give a shit any more. Sure, Finn could easily lead us somewhere remote, kill us and take our stuff but you know what, the fucking Shield could turn up right now and kill us before we even knew it. If there’s even a slight chance that Finn’s telling us the truth and can keep us safe, I’m all for it.’

     Punk paused, deep in thought. He knew just how worn out Colt was because he felt it himself. His eyelids were growing heavier by the second and his body was starting to give out. He knew he wouldn’t be able to carry on much longer. He scrunched his face up with irritation and let out a long sigh.

     ‘Is there somewhere we can rest nearby that’s well hidden?’ Punk asked Finn with reluctance.

     ‘I’ve got a place in mind. Nobody knows about it except the locals.’

     ‘Take us there,’ Punk ordered and shouldered his pack as he stood up. ‘But I promise you, you even think of betraying us, I’ll tear your arm clean off and bash you over the head with it, finish the job those two idiots started.’

     ‘Lovely image,’ Finn smirked.

     ‘You got the message?’

     ‘Loud and clear.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello Finn Bálor, welcome to the party!
> 
> I've been so excited to post this chapter - Finn Bálor is my favourite current wrestler (naturally, Punk is my fav, full stop). I really enjoy writing Finn and took a lot of inspiration from his heel days as Prince Devitt, making him charismatic and cocky while also being able to back it up in a fight. 
> 
> (Funny, sounds a little like someone we know.... maybe that's why he grates on him so much...)
> 
> Anyway, I'm excited to see what you all think. Feel free to leave any comments or kudos - I always appreciate them!


	20. Teaching Old Dogs New Tricks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 20 cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-20-cover-816907470?ga_submit_new=10%3A1571167936)

     Finn’s hiding place turned out to be an abandoned railway tunnel in a secluded part of the countryside. If Finn hadn’t been so familiar with the area, they would never have stumbled across it. Punk felt certain that the Shield would never find them here, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it was also the perfect place to hide a couple of dead bodies.

     They walked into the tunnel and settled down several feet away from the entrance. It was surprisingly warm in the depths and the ground was soft - an ideal place to set up camp. Punk had to admit; it was an excellent find. He happened to glance up and caught Finn smiling at him - Punk had subconsciously been nodding his approval and the Irishman had gleefully noticed.

     ‘Not bad, eh?’ Finn grinned. ‘Told you, I could come in handy.’

     ‘It’s alright, I guess,’ Punk said, shrugging nonchalantly.

     ‘Is he always this stubborn?’ Finn turned to Colt.

     ‘Ohh yeah,’ Colt sighed, wearily.

     ‘Exactly whose side are you on?’ Punk snapped at his friend, who merely gave a feeble laugh in return.

     Punk volunteered to take first watch since Colt was already almost out cold and he didn’t like the idea of Finn being left unsupervised while they slept. As the other two men lay down to rest, he sat with his back against the cool walls of the tunnel, listening to the wind softly murmur through the winding cavern. He could hear Colt’s breathing nearby, broken now and again by raspy coughs - side effects of the damage done by the smoke while they were trapped in the fire. Punk, himself, could feel his lungs working harder than normal and hoped that they would both heal in time and that nothing was permanently injured.

     They weren’t the only ones struggling to breath. It was becoming clear that Finn had indeed cracked some ribs and each time he inhaled, it caused him immense pain. Punk could hear him wince through the darkness. He looked over at the younger man, who was lying on his back with Punk’s jacket zipped up to keep him warm. He slept like a feral cat, seemingly peaceful one minute but would be up and alert any time there was a strange sound. Their new companion fascinated Punk. He was almost half animal with his athleticism and natural instinct; it was evident that he had been living rough for a long time now and had adapted to survive the dangerous and unstable environment.

     Punk fished his map out from his pack and using what little light was sifting in from the entrance of the tunnel, he checked their position. He placed his finger on the map, indicating roughly where they were and slowly travelled it down the fine paper until it rested just over Tampa. They had come so far and the end was nearly in sight. Once they passed through this state, they would be in Florida at last and on the last leg of their journey to find April.

     Quickly glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, Punk lifted his right arm and pulled back his sleeve, revealing the red lips tattooed on his wrist. He gently kissed the ink and closed his eyes, imagining the taste of her sweet lip-gloss and the warmth of her breath. He could almost feel her fingers running through his hair, his hands wanting so desperately to wrap themselves around her tiny waist and press her body against his.

     He pulled away and reality bit him. He felt that familiar pain in the pit of his stomach as the darkness engulfed him again. He looked back at the map and his face set, determined.

     ‘Just a little longer,’ he sighed.

 

     ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ Colt scolded Punk as he realised he had slept in.

     Punk shrugged. ‘I tried, but you just slapped me in the face.’

     ‘I did not!’ Colt dismissed his friend, but then paused as he had flashbacks of a hazy dream. ‘Did I?’

     ‘Dude, look at me,’ Punk said and pointed to his cheek, which was a shade of pink.

     ‘Oh shit, buddy, I’m so sorry,’ Colt spluttered, completely shocked by his actions.

     ‘Yeah, well, you’re on watch duty for the next two nights to make up for it,’ Punk told him.

     From the other side of the tunnel, Finn chuckled to himself. ‘It was pretty funny,’ he said.

     ‘Shut up, Finn!’ both men yelled back at him.

     ‘Go lie down, get some sleep before we head out,’ Colt ordered Punk, but his friend shook his head.

     ‘I’m fine. I’m rested and ready to get going again,’ he reassured Colt, ‘plus I’m getting two whole nights of sleep later.’ He slapped his friend on the back while Colt groaned sulkily.

     ‘So what’s the plan for today?’ Finn asked, as he tucked into a can of peaches that Colt had given him.

     ‘Hopefully, we’re gonna find your family so I don’t have to look at your ugly face again,’ Punk said.

     ‘Ouch!’ Finn replied. ‘Little early in the day for insults isn’t it?’

     ‘How far away is your family?’ Colt asked, interrupting the pair.

     ‘It’s hard to tell - they’re always on the move. Last I saw them, before I was taken by those guys, they were about a two-day walk from here.’

     ‘Two days?’ Punk groaned.

     ‘I’m sorry, I know you wanted rid of me sooner,’ Finn replied, sarcastically.

     ‘We’ll take however long it takes,’ Colt said, shooting a glare at Punk.

     ‘I was actually hoping to ask a favour,’ Finn said.

     ‘Isn’t saving your life and escorting you home enough of a favour?’ Punk snorted.

     ‘It is,’ Finn assured him, ‘but I was also hoping that we could stop by a town on the way and have a quick raid.’

     ‘Nope,’ Punk replied, sharply.

     ‘If we do, you’ll get your jacket back quicker.’

     ‘Go on,’ Punk said, intrigued.

     ‘I just need to hit one house, maybe two. I need a pair of boots, a shirt and a jacket to replace the ones that were stolen. Unless you both enjoy watching me swan around with my shirt off all day.’

     ‘The more of you covered up the better. At least then I can eat without throwing up,’ Punk mocked cruelly but Finn laughed at the comment. ‘Fine, but it will have to be quick.’

     ‘Promise,’ Finn grinned.

     ‘So where exactly is this town?’ Punk asked.

     ‘That’s the best part,’ Finn smirked and motioned further down the tunnel. ‘This old railway line leads right there. Whoever’s tracking you will lose your trail completely.’

     Colt nodded his head with a large grin on his face. He was clearly impressed with the younger man’s cunning and admittedly so was Punk, although he, of course, didn’t show it.

     ‘Fine, eat up and we’ll be on our way,’ he said, flatly.

 

     The journey through the tunnel turned out to be pretty tense for Punk. He insisted Finn walk on ahead to guide them but mainly, this was to make sure he was always within sight. Although the idea of walking this way was clever and sure to lose the Shield, he was also completely isolating them – was this when he planned to strike? Punk’s lead pipe never left his hand and his arm was tensed, poised to attack if the moment arose.

     He rolled his eyes as Colt laughed loudly. He seemed to have warmed to the Irishman and was walking alongside him trading stories. It turned out Finn was a man of the road too and had travelled all over the world, starting across Europe followed by a long spell in Japan before heading to the States, where he became caught up in the Event.

     ‘Talk about bad timing,’ Colt groaned.

     ‘It wasn’t all bad,’ Finn said positively. ‘From the ashes of the Event, I found a new life. A new family and a new purpose.’

     ‘You got a girl?’ Colt asked.

     ‘The horizon is my girl,’ Finn smiled softly. ‘But she plays hard to get. I chase her every day yet can never seem to catch her.’

     ‘You think you’ll ever settle?’

     ‘Maybe. If the wanderlust ever dies down. How about you? You got someone?’

     ‘No,’ Colt sighed. ‘But I’ve been thinking about settling down a lot lately. This whole trip has taught me that life is short and it could be over like that,’ he snapped his fingers. ‘Why wait? Live for now and take each opportunity while you can. Tomorrow may never come.’

     ‘Wise words,’ Finn nodded.

     ‘How much further,’ Punk cut in.

     ‘Oh, you’re still with us?’ Finn joked but Punk didn’t even crack a smile. ‘Not long now.’

     ‘Good.’

     ‘This place creeping you out, Punk?’ Finn teased.

     ‘I’m fine,’ he shot back. It wasn’t the tunnel making him uneasy; it was their company.

     ‘Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts or something?’

     ‘No!’

     ‘Yes, he does,’ Colt cut in and Finn smiled wider.

     ‘Dude! Stop telling people that!’ Punk shouted.

     ‘You really believe this tunnel is haunted?’ Finn asked, his grin about to break into laughter when Punk retorted with an enraged ‘NO’. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve travelled through here tons of times and I’ve never seen a single ghost-‘

     ‘I’m not scared of fucking ghosts!’

     ‘Oh dear, he’s getting grumpy. Do you think he’s been possessed?’ Finn turned to Colt.

     ‘If so, he’s been possessed a looong fucking time,’ Colt remarked.

     ‘Will you both shut the hell up?’ Punk yelled as the two men laughed loudly.

     ‘You know, there’s this old boy who travels around these parts who used to be a priest. I could ask him to perform an exorcism?’ suggested Finn, making Colt laugh even louder.

     ‘Naa, I kinda like him the way he is,’ Colt giggled. ‘He’s so easy to wind up.’

     ‘Colt,’ Punk growled under his breath. ‘I swear I’m gonna murder you.’

     ‘See what I mean?’ The two men hollered with laughter while Punk trudged behind, his face turning such a deep shade of red he swore steam was coming out of his ears.

 

     ‘Here we are,’ Finn declared as the end of the tunnel came into sight. It had been a longer journey than either man had anticipated and they reckoned the underground cavern must have ran for miles. But now, they could see the light and were finally leaving the darkness behind them. And to Punk’s surprise, both men were still alive and breathing. Maybe, he had been wrong about Finn after all?

     The stepped out into the cool, late afternoon air and all three men inhaled deeply, glad to be out of the musty, damp cave. To their amazement, they found themselves right in the middle of the town Finn had been talking about. The old railway line had led them straight into a dilapidated train station. The ceiling had caved in on one side but they could clearly make out the abandoned platforms, ticket office and stalls, all of which had been looted. There was even a rusty train nestled on a track, slowly decaying into scrap metal. They stood mesmerised by the haunting yet beautiful scene.

     ‘Ok, let’s get this over with,’ Punk instructed. ‘We’ll check the nearest two houses then get out of here.’

     ‘Woah, woah, chill out, Punk,’ Finn said raising his palms.

     ‘Don’t tell me to chill out,’ Punk snarled back.

     ‘You see, Finn,’ Colt said, stepping in between the two men. ‘We’ve not had the best of luck with raids before.’

     ‘Come across some nasty characters, have ye? Look, I wouldn’t have taken you here if it was dangerous,’ Finn reassured him. ‘This town is tiny and it’s completely abandoned. There’s nobody here, I promise you.’

     ‘Well, just to be on the safe side, we’ll show you the signs we use to communicate when we’re on raids,’ Punk said. Together with Colt, they showed them the different hand gestures they used and once they were done, Finn looked more confused than before. ‘Make sense?’

     ‘No,’ Finn said, bluntly and Punk rolled his eyes with irritation.

     ‘What didn’t you get?’

     ‘It’s all wrong.’

     ‘What do you mean it’s all wrong?’

     ‘Well, for starters, the raised fist means ‘stop’, not ‘go’.’

     ‘It’s the signal for me to ‘go’.’

     ‘It means ‘stop’ – have you never watched a film before?’

     Punk chewed on his bottom lip. ‘Then what do you suggest, genius?’

     ‘Pointing with two fingers means ‘go’, yeah? So say you’re ‘one’ and Colt is ‘two’, raise one finger then point with two fingers for you to go, and raise two fingers and point two fingers for Colt to go.’

     An awkward pause hung in the air. Punk pursed his lips, refusing to admit that Finn’s idea was much better.

     ‘That’s much better,’ Colt blurted out and Punk screwed his eyes shut.

     ‘Told you,’ Finn smiled triumphantly.

     ‘Hey, if we’d used that before, we may not have had that little run-in with Earl. You know, the time you messed up the signals and yelled at me then I nearly got my head blown off.’

     ‘Yes, thanks for reminding me, Colt,’ Punk muttered through gritted teeth.

     ‘But like I said before, there’s nobody here so you don’t need to sneak around,’ reminded Finn. ‘Come on.’

     Finn confidently walked to the other side of the train station and maneuvered through the rubble of the collapsed ceiling while Punk turned to his friend.

     ‘So what? Are you two best buddies now?’ he asked, bitterly and Colt let out a laugh.

     ‘You jealous or something?’

     ‘No, I just think you should be more careful around him, that’s all.’

     ‘He’s actually a good guy, if you gave him a chance.’

     ‘You’ve only known him for, what, a day?’

     ‘You’d only known Amy for a week when you tried to jump into her pants.’

     ‘That’s different,’ Punks scoffed.

     ‘How?’ Colt shrugged.

     ‘She wasn’t some psychopathic killer.’

     ‘The first time we met her she had a massive rifle in her arms! And I watched her use it. Repeatedly. She even admitted that she was playing us at first and if we’d stepped out of line, she would have shot us both in the head.’

     ‘Ok, ok, point taken,’ Punk snapped.

     ‘What exactly is it you don’t like about him?’

     ‘Something just bothers me. He said those guys were a hit, but why? Why were they targeting him? And if it was the Bullet Club like they said, why are they after him? And why is he so adamant that they’re not? Something just doesn’t add up.’

     ‘We’ve kept secrets from him too. He probably doesn’t trust us any more than we trust him.’

     ‘Normal guys don’t have hits on them.’

     ‘We have a hit on us,’ Colt pointed out and Punk paused. He had never thought of it like that before. ‘We have more in common with Finn than you think.’

     Punk’s shoulders dropped and he let out a long sigh ‘Yeah,’ he said, softly. ‘I guess you’re right.’

     ‘So, are you gonna give him a chance or are you gonna keep holding onto your lead pipe until we find his family?’

     Punk looked down and could see he did in fact have his hand clenched around the pipe stuffed into his belt. He sullenly lowered his hand down by his side. ‘I’ll give him a chance.’

     ‘You gonna be nice to him?’

     ‘Don’t push it!’

     ‘Hey guys, you coming or what?’ Finn yelled from the other side of the rubble and the pair ran to catch up.

 

     The town was small just as Finn had described and was completely empty. Instead of having to sneak around in the shadows, all three men simply walked through the narrow streets until Finn located the building that he was looking for, stopping outside a two-story house and rubbing his hands together. He marched up to the door but found it locked.

     ‘Need a hand kicking it in?’ Colt asked.

     ‘Here, I’ll show you another trick,’ Finn said. ‘See how this house has small windows around the door-frame?’ Colt nodded and even Punk listened intently. ‘If all the glass panels are intact, like this one it means nobody’s looted it before now and, let me tell you, these places are goldmines.’ He removed his leather jacket and started searching for something on the ground. Finding a large stone, he clenched it in his fist and wrapped the jacket around his hand and arm.

     ‘Ok, now, normally, I would have somebody keeping watch while I do this, but we’ll be fine today,’ Finn explained and turned to the door. Quickly glancing either side, he threw his fist through the glass panel nearest the door handle. The leather muffled the smashing glass and protected his arm as he withdrew it and used his other hand to unlock the door. He opened it with a cocky grin and let Punk and Colt into the house.

     ‘Don’t see how that’s any better then just kicking it down,’ mumbled Punk.

     ‘Less noise, less mess, less attention,’ Finn replied, counting each reason on his fingers. ‘Plus, you have another line of defense. Close the door and barricade it to keep others out. Even if it only works for a little while, you’ll hear them coming and have enough time to escape.’

     Instinctively both Punk and Colt walked through to the kitchen and finding some food in the cupboards, began to stuff them into their packs.

     ‘Where is he?’ Punk asked after they had grabbed their fill.

     ‘I think I heard him upstairs,’ Colt said.

     ‘What did I tell you, lads, she’s a goldmine!’ Finn exclaimed, coming in the kitchen door, as if on cue. He was looking far more presentable now with a plain black T-shirt and black trainers with white soles. He had even managed to locate a new leather jacket to complete his ensemble. ‘Here you go, Punk,’ he said, handing the Second City Saint’s faded, worn jacket back while Punk looked on with envy at the Irishman’s crisp, new coat. ‘Oh and Colt, for you.’ He handed a plastic bag to Colt, who opened it to find it full of medical supplies. ‘Painkillers, alcohol, bandages, enough to last you a while.’

   ‘This is great, buddy, thanks,’ Colt grinned.

     ‘I was also going to look for some new boots for you, Punk,’ Finn said. ‘What are you, a size 8?’

     Punk scrunched up his nose at the taunt but catching Colt’s eye, he decided to be civil. ‘No,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘I’m a size 12.’

     ‘Size 12? Kind of overcompensating a bit, don’t you think?’ Finn teased and headed back up the stairs.

     ‘I hate him so fucking much,’ Punk muttered but hearing a strange snort to his side, he turned to find Colt tightly clutching his face. ‘Why are you laughing?’ Punk yelled.

     ‘He gets under your skin so easily,’ Colt coughed out between laughs. ‘It’s so funny to watch. Your face gets so red and that vein in your temple pops out and-’ he descended into laughter again.

     ‘I’m surrounded by assholes,’ Punk sighed.

     Finn returned after a few minutes and handed Punk a brand new pair of boots. Punk was amazed at the quality of them and eagerly tore off his tattered old scraps of leather.

     ‘Couldn’t find a size 12,’ Finn said, ‘you sure you didn’t just make that up?’ On seeing the look on Punk’s face, he backed down. ‘Just bantering wit’cha. Biggest I could find was an 11 – hope that suits you.’

     ‘They’ll be fine,’ Punk replied, tying up his new footwear. ‘Thanks.’

     ‘Oh, and even better, for the pair of you,’ he produced two piles of multi-coloured items and handed them one each. The two men inspected their gifts and their eyes lit up.

     ‘Oh my god,’ Colt gasped, ‘these are-‘

     ‘They’re just socks and boxers, boys,’ Finn laughed. ‘I’m sure you’ve picked up those before on your raids.’ The two men shot each other a guilty look. ‘You’re joking, right?’

     ‘We’ve never really thought about it before,’ Colt shrugged. ‘We were always too busy looking for food.’

     ‘Unbelievable,’ Finn laughed. ‘Go upstairs and get changed. Trust me, putting on a clean pair of boxers… it’s incredible! Fourth best thing to do with your trousers down.’ He laughed as the two men rushed past him to the stairs.

     A few minutes later, Punk walked down the stairs with a new swagger, which, of course, Finn instantly picked up on.

     ‘What did I tell you,’ he smiled.

     ‘I’ve never taken drugs or had a drop of alcohol in my life, but I’m guessing this is what people feel like when they’re on a high,’ Punk replied with a grin.

     ‘Really,’ Finn’s eyebrows shot up, ‘not even a drop of alcohol?’ Punk shook his head. ‘Must be dull. Let me guess, your dad have a bit too much on the weekends?’

     ‘My dad was an alcoholic,’ Punk replied and Finn’s face fell.

     ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-‘

     ‘It’s fine, you didn’t know.’

     ‘Still feel like an arse.’

     ‘You are an ass,’ Punk smirked, ‘but honestly, it’s ok.’

     ‘So… is this us being civil?’ Finn asked, pointing between the two of them.

     ‘You’ve helped us out and followed through on your promises. Plus Colt seems to like you for some strange reason and I trust his judgment so….’

     ‘So, you trust me now?’

     ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

     Finn smiled. ‘It’s a start.’

     There was a small silence, Punk looking towards the ground with his eyebrows knitted as if he were thinking hard about something. He finally raised his head and his eyes caught Finn’s who looked at him expectantly.

     ‘Those guys chasing us?’ Punk started, ‘they’re called the Shield. You ever heard of them?’ Finn shook his head ‘no’. ‘They’ve got a fearsome reputation up in Illinois. They enjoy hunting their targets down and destroying them without mercy. And from what Colt’s told me, they’re relentless and they never fail.’

     ‘So why are they after you?’ Finn asked.

     ‘I pissed off their boss.’

     ‘You? Really? But you have such a sweet, bubbly personality.’

     ‘I also dragged Colt into this,’ Punk sighed, ignoring Finn’s comment. ‘They’ve been hunting us down for months now and no matter what we do, we can’t seem to shake them. They’ve gone in for the kill a couple of times and we barely got away with our lives.’

     ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

     ‘Because you were right,’ Punk sighed as Finn looked on. ‘You should know what you’re getting yourself into. These guys aren’t some petty thugs with overblown egos; they’re the real deal. They’ve got strength, stealth and a vicious streak. I need you to be prepared if they manage to find us again.’

     ‘I can fight,’ Finn nodded.

     ‘I have no doubt about that,’ Punk assured him. ‘Even beaten half to death, your athleticism is something that Colt and I could only dream of. Plus you’re not afraid to deal that killer blow. If the time comes,’ he paused and fixed Finn with an intense glare, hazel eyes boring into ice blue, ‘can I count on you?’

     ‘Has nothing I’ve done for you proven that I’m your ally?’

     ‘I need to hear you say it.’

     ‘You can count on me,’ Finn said with determination, never breaking eye contact once. Punk nodded, seemingly satisfied.

     ‘So, I came clean, seems only fair you do the same.’

     ‘Well played,’ Finn smiled, wryly. ‘I’ll be 100% honest wit’cha.’

     ‘Who organised the hit?’

     ‘I don’t know.’

     ‘Have you any enemies?’

     Finn snorted a laugh. ‘I have made more enemies than I can count,’ he heaved, sadly.

     ‘Could it have been one of them?’

     ‘No,’ Finn turned to Punk. ‘I’ve left none alive.’

     Their eyes locked once more and Punk noticed the vacantness in the younger man’s expression He suppressed a shiver. Underneath the good humour and smiles, a cold-blooded killer lurked, camouflaged in the foliage.

     ‘That horrifies you, doesn’t it?’ Finn said, more of a statement than a question.

     ‘Yeah, it does,’ Punk replied.

     ‘I promised I would be 100% honest and I’m as good as my word,’ the Irishman responded. ‘I’m far from a saint and I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but understand, I did them to survive.’

     Punk simply nodded, not wishing to mention how sick to his stomach he felt. Suddenly he felt that by taking a chance on trusting this man he had invited a vampire into his home.

     ‘I couldn’t help but notice,’ Finn said, his eyes narrowing. ‘Those stitches on your shirt? Around the collar?’ Punk looked down at the repair job Colt had done after the Viper attack. ‘You have the mark of the Apex Predator?’

     Punk’s eyes widened and just as he was about to ask how he knew, Finn removed his jacket and pulled his own shirt up, revealing a nasty scar on his shoulder, at the exact same place that Punk had his.

     ‘We’re a rare breed, you and I,’ Finn smiled, pulling his shirt back down. ‘I’ve never met another man who faced Randy Orton and lived to tell the tale.’

     ‘I nearly didn’t.’

     ‘There’s no shame in that,’ Finn said, ‘he’s the toughest fighter I’ve ever come up against. I’m not afraid to admit he just about finished me. I barely remember the fight, it’s all just dizzy haze now, but I distinctly remember being on my knees, his arm around my throat. I was nearly gone when I felt his teeth sink into my skin and I heard this screaming all around me, thundering through my skull.’ He chuckled dryly. ‘Turns out the screams were my own.

     ‘I later heard that he only saves his mark for the special few, the ones who can best him in combat, or at least offer him some kind of challenge. In his twisted mind, he believes he draws their strength and makes it his own. But as I felt him tear the flesh from my shoulder, I swear, it was me that was drawing the power from him.

     ‘I felt a fire in my stomach and it grew, engulfing my whole chest and flowing through my veins. I felt the fire make me stronger and with this new energy, I broke free and defeated him. Call me crazy but I still feel that fire any time I find myself in a fight. It’s almost as if something else lives inside me, some kind of demon that sleeps, hidden away most of the time but as soon as it gets a sniff of blood, it takes over my entire body.’ His fingers absentmindedly fumbled with the bandana around his neck. ‘I’m not a bad person, Punk,’ he said, as the Chicago native listened intently, ‘but there is something inside of me that is dark and twisted and when it takes control, there’s nothing I can do to stop it. But I can channel it the right way and only unleash it on those who deserve it. I swear to you, by the marks that we share, I will never harm you or Colt.’

     ‘Right,’ Punk said, frozen in shock from Finn’s naked honesty.

     ‘Ohh my gooddd,’ Colt sighed out loud as he walked into the kitchen, breaking the tension immediately. ‘This feels incredible.’

     ‘Told ye,’ Finn said, his fingers falling from his bandana. In a flash, his cold expression was gone and he was back to being the warm, fun-loving guy from before. Punk stared at him, an expression of complete horror and confusion etched on his face. ‘Right boys, I’m going to see what else we can salvage then we can be on our way. Feel free to look around.’

     As he headed out of the kitchen, Colt turned to Punk. ‘So, do you still think he’s an ass?’

     ‘He’s not an ass,’ Punk admitted, flatly. ‘He’s a fucking lunatic.’

     Two days came and went and Finn was still in their company, although they were getting closer to finding his family. They had located the spot where he had last seen them and could see a mass of tracks leading away into the distance. Finn reckoned they had only headed off a day or two ago so if they carried on, they would meet them soon enough. Punk breathed a sigh of relief; the sooner they got rid of this wolf in sheep’s clothing, the better.

     As the days had past, Punk and Colt had noticed a change in their companion. The swelling had began to settle, the bruises fading from vicious black to a softer brown and their hideous new associate began to turn into something a lot easier on the eye. In fact, he turned out to be an attractive young man with movie star good looks and captivating eyes. But the main transformation they couldn’t help but notice was the Irishman’s physique. As the splashes of blue and purple lifted from his chest, they revealed an incredibly chiseled abdomen. The man they had met only days ago had grown from Victor Hugo’s Quasimodo into Michelangelo’s David.

     Punk and Colt had considered themselves athletes for their entire adult lives and had spent countless hours in the gym, but the much sought after six-pack had eluded them both (primarily due to their love of pizza and ice cream). It baffled them how the man achieved his sculpted body, and all while living out in the wild. He didn’t even look gaunt like his fellow half-starved companions.

     ‘Stop staring at him,’ Punk nudged Colt in the ribs, as he caught him watching Finn again while he cleaned himself up in a nearby river. ‘I’m honestly starting to think you have a man-crush on that guy.’

     ‘Look at him though,’ Colt replied, still not taking his eyes off of the Irishman. ‘How is that fucking fair? I work out and I can’t even make _one_ of my goddamn abs stick out like that.’

     ‘Life isn’t fair, Colt,’ Punk sighed. ‘Some guys just have all the luck.’

     ‘I thought you didn’t believe in luck.’

     ‘How else would you explain a guy who’s pretty much a drifter looking like that. I mean, even his goddamn hair looks like it was styled this morning.’

     ‘Now _you’re_ staring at him,’ Colt said, nudging Punk this time. ‘Maybe you’re the one with the man-crush.’

     ‘I’m already hopelessly pining for someone,’ Punk pointed out. ‘He’s all yours, if you want him.’

     Colt let out a loud laugh. ‘Naa, he’s a good guy but an asshole. Plus, I haven’t quite given up on the ladies just yet.’

     ‘The women of the world rejoice,’ Punk taunted flatly.

     They packed up camp and headed out again, Finn feeling confident that they would find his family today. ‘They’re getting fresher,’ he said eagerly, inspecting the tracks at his feet. ‘If we keep up this pace, we’ll be with them before you know it. Will you be sad to see me go, Punk?’

     ‘Nope,’ Punk smirked.

     ‘Aww, I’ll miss you too, buddy.’

     Finn turned and walked on ahead, clearly excited to be reunited with his family once more while Colt and Punk hung back to talk.

     ‘That’s a lot of tracks,’ Colt pointed out. ‘His family must be huge.’

     ‘It makes sense to go around in large groups,’ Punk explained. ‘That way you have safely in numbers, especially when the Bullet Club seem keen to put you in the ground. Speaking of, you get any more information from him?’

     ‘He told me the same thing he told you, he doesn’t know who organised the hit and you know what, I believe him.’

     ‘Did you bring up the Bullet Club?’

     ‘He says if they wanted him dead, they would have done it themselves. Apparently they’re not the type to get somebody else to do their dirty work, especially, in his words, a couple of amateurs.’

     ‘Those _amateurs_ would have finished him off if we hadn’t stumbled across them.’

     ‘They ambushed him from behind and drugged him with chloroform. Every time he woke up, they drugged him again until they had taken him far enough away. By the time he was allowed to come to, he was already tied up and beaten. I know I wouldn’t have stood a chance and neither would you.’

     ‘Did you say chloroform?’ Punk asked, suspiciously.

     ‘Yeah. Why?’

     ‘Who the fuck has chloroform these days?’

     ‘Maybe they raided a hospital or something?’

     ‘Yeah but… why use something like that? Why not just whack him on the head? Why go to all this effort when you’re just killing a guy? Something is really screwy here.’

     ‘I don’t know, ok, I’m just saying that-‘ Colt’s words were drastically cut off by a wet crunch and he fell forward, landing on the ground like a sack of bricks.

     ‘COLT!’ Punk screamed and tried to rush to his friend’s side when he felt hands on him, holding him back. He struggled against their grip and barely ripped his arm loose when his a sack was rammed over his head and blocked his vision. He was stunned, fears swirling in his mind as he tried in vain to break free.

     He was thrown to the ground and yelled out as a knee was thrust between his shoulder blades, his hands yanked behind his back. Metal handcuffs bit down into his wrists, drawing blood. He could hear someone next to him, groaning out in pain.

     ‘COLT! COLT!’ He yelled.

     ‘Punk…?’ The reply was weak, dazed.

     Just as suddenly as he hit the ground, he was lifted into the air, still screaming his friend’s name but the replies faded into the distance.


	21. Found You!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 21 cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-21-cover-818158574?ga_submit_new=10%3A1572115699)

      ‘Colt? Colt? Can you hear me?’

     The voice came in waves as if he were underwater. He tried to focus but every time he opened his eyes, a white light blinded him.

     ‘Punk?’ he managed to stutter out.

     ‘No it’s me. Finn.’

   Colt cracked one eye open halfway but it rolled around in his socket, making his head hurt.

     ‘Easy there,’ Finn soothed him. ‘You got a right whallop on the back of your head.’

     ‘Water,’ Colt gasped and Finn grabbed a bottle and helped Colt to lift his head and take a few sips. Colt weakly gestured to his face and understanding what he meant, Finn poured some water into his hand and dabbed it across the Chicago native’s forehead. It slightly worked to help rouse Colt from his stupor and he tried pulling himself up. The screech of tyres skidding on asphalt tore though his head, the white light overtook his vision again and Colt winced in tremendous pain.

     ‘Take it easy, lie back down,’ Finn ordered softly and helped Colt to lie on his back again. The throbbing pounded at the back of his skull and his whole body went weak.

     ‘He needs me,’ he whispered through the pain and tears began to well up in his eyes.

     ‘What?’ Finn asked.

     ‘He needs me. I need to help him.’ Colt was swimming in and out of consciousness.

     ‘Colt? Colt?’ Finn asked, trying to shake the former wrestler awake. ‘Colt, where’s Punk?’

 

     The journey was labouring, Punk being carried like a sack of potatoes by his capturers. He made it as uncomfortable for his assailants as possible by struggling constantly, using his powerful legs to kick out at his opponents. Once it proved effective and he was dropped to the ground, landing with a nasty bump that knocked the wind from him. The sack lifted slightly and he tried to crawl away when a boot came slamming into the side of his face. He fell, the sack was shoved down and he was lifted up again. From the brief moment of vision, he made out that there were four, maybe five, of them.

     _They’re not the Shield_ ,’ he thought, a small comfort, _but then, who are they?_

The sound of raucous voices burst from the distance and grew closer until it engulfed him. He was dumped onto the hard ground and laughter roared around him. Punk clenched his fists tightly and tried yanking them apart but the short metal chain connecting them stayed firm. He rolled onto his chest and pulled his knees in, trying to sit up on them but as soon as he sat up, a brutal kick struck him on the torso and he fell to the ground, landing on his back and crushing his bound hands. He coughed some air back into his lungs as the laughter reach fever pitch.

     Two sets of hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him to his knees again. Male voices sounded next to his head, spurring someone on to have another shot, and all Punk could do was wait for the blow. The kick hit his face this time and he fell back once more, feeling fresh blood drip from his nose and mouth. He ran his tongue over his mouth and winced on feeling a gash on his lower lip.

     But he wasn’t defeated yet.

     He stayed still and quiet, listening carefully through the cacophony of voices until he heard the gravel crunching right next to him. With lightning quick reactions, he struck out with his leg and felt it collide with flesh and bone. Something buckled under his blow and a man’s shriek of pain brought a smile to his face as he felt the ground vibrate next to him.

     ‘He broke his fucking leg!’ another man cried out and suddenly all hell broke loose. Dozens of hands were upon him now, yanking him to his feet and holding him up. Everyone piled in for a shot and Punk gritted his teeth as the blows rained down on him. They were frantic and wild but they lacked direction and did more to merely wear him down than cause any damage.

     ‘Enough!’ A voice boomed out and the pummeling stopped. The hands released Punk and he crumpled to his knees. The sack was ripped from his head and he screwed his eyes shut while he adjusted to the grey light around him, eventually spying the large man slowly walking towards him.

     ‘You…’ Punk mustered out through the pain.

     ‘I told you I would find you… Punk,’ the man smiled wickedly.

 

     Finn rubbed his hands roughly through his hair. This was not good, not good at all. Colt was reeling from the blow he’d been dealt on the back of his head while all that remained of Punk was his pack and his Cubs baseball cap, left abandoned on the ground.

     ‘Give me strength,’ he muttered under his breath and bending down, he grabbed Colt under the arms and hauled him across the ground. He rested his companion against a small wall and splashed more water on his face until he came to again.

     ‘That’s it, Colt, come back to me,’ he said, soothingly as the Chicago native’s eyes began to flutter open. ‘No, no, don’t even try that again,’ he groaned as they started to close again. Finn lightly slapped the larger man on the cheek and finally he got the response he wanted.

     ‘Oww… whyyy?’ Colt groaned.

     ‘Colt, listen to me,’ Finn grabbed Colt’s arms and shook him urgently. ‘They’ve taken Punk and I need to know where. What happened? Did you see who took him? Was it the Shield?’

     ‘The Shield?’ Colt’s eyes widened in fear but it was clear his mind was still jumbled – he didn’t even know where he was right now.

     ‘I don’t know, I need you to help me out here, Colt. I need to find him before it’s too late.’

     ‘They’ll kill him,’ Colt’s eyes began to water, ‘he needs me.’

     ‘Well, you’re not going anywhere,’ Finn said sternly. ‘But I’ll find him, I promise. Just tell me where they-‘

     Finn froze as he stared at something behind Colt’s shoulder, his ice blue eyes wide and alert.

     ‘Don’t move,’ he hissed at Colt, who watched as the younger man slowly raised his hands in surrender. He became vaguely aware of footsteps easing their way closer to them.

     ‘Who is it?’ Colt asked, feeling himself growing tired again.

     ‘The Bullet Club.’

 

     Punk glared back at the tall, longhaired man adorned in colourful tattoos and instantly recognised the leader of the gang who had stolen Trevor’s cart. The rest of his crew were scattered around him, watching on with sinister leers and cold eyes. The smell of whisky was heavy in the air.

     ‘Not so tough without your little pea shooter now, are you Punk?’ the towering man smirked and the rest of the gang laughed rowdily. Punk stared the man down, his jaw clenched tightly while his heavy breathing panted out through his nose. ‘Not so chatty either, huh?’

     ‘Teach him a lesson, Corbin,’ one of the men shouted and the rest joined in with their approval, urging their leader on.

     ‘Ohh, I will, Axel, you bet I will,’ the tall man grinned. ‘But you can’t rush these things or else, they’re over too quickly.’ He crouched down until he was eye level with Punk and grinned at his captive. ‘You made me look a fool, in front of my men,’ he said, his voice low and menacing, ‘I can’t forgive that. Now, _you’re_ gonna be the one looking a fool.’

     Punk snarled and leapt forward, breaking free of the gang member holding him and threw himself at the tattooed man. Corbin fell back in shock, landing on his backside as three men restrained Punk again. The Chicago native smirked maliciously at the taller man.

     ‘Look at you, Corbin, is it?’ Punk taunted, ‘you’re pathetic! You think you’re tough? Well prove it. Un-cuff me and we can fight it out like real men.’

     The leader growled and thumped his fist against the ground. ‘Pick him up,’ he ordered the men holding Punk and together, they forced the former wrestler to his feet while keeping an iron grip on him. The tall man slowly stood up and loomed over his struggling captive, his face twisted with rage and humiliation.

     ‘The name is Baron Corbin,’ he hissed. ‘And I am not pathetic.’

     A fist slammed into Punk’s mid-drift and the Chicago native crumpled over. Almost immediately, he was pulled upright again, crying out as his stomach cramped viciously and Baron Corbin dealt a second blow. The men around him roared with laughter on hearing Punk’s gasps of agony. A third punch to the gut and Punk’s legs gave out. He fell onto his knees; bend over double as he threw up what little contents his stomach had to offer.

     Baron Corbin stood tall over his prey, raising his arms up arrogantly while his drunken gang members cheered him on.

     ‘Still think I’m pathetic, huh Punk?’ he shouted down at the bound man.

     Punk spat out what vomit was left in his mouth and with great effort, raised his head to look right into Corbin’s eye.

     ‘Yeah,’ he shot back and Corbin saw red once more. His boot collided with the side of Punk’s face and it brought stars to his vision. He sat stunned on the ground while the camp hollered and jeered, filling his head with noise.

     ‘You think you’re a big man, huh?’ Corbin grumbled, his voice laced with threat. ‘Let’s see how tough you really are.’ He motioned to the man he’d called Axel and held out his hand. ‘Give me your bottle.’

     ‘But I’m drinking it,’ the man whined.

     ‘GIVE ME IT!’

     Axel relented and handed Corbin the bottle of brown liquid. He walked back over to Punk who was crouched on the ground, his chest heaving and his forehead resting on the hard dirt. He heard Corbin pop the lid above him and before he knew it, whisky was being poured all over him. His reaction was instant as he tried to get away from the foul smelling liquid, but any time he moved, the whisky followed, raining down on him mercilessly. It streamed down his face and into his eyes, making them sting. He screwed his eyelids shut and shook his head frantically but it did nothing to stop the whisky washing over his face and head. Strands of his scruffy hair clung to his forehead while rivers spilled through his beard, dripping off his chin. The liquid was invading his nose and he tried to snort it out He couldn’t breath, forcing himself to open his mouth and the whisky eagerly gushed between his lips. He could taste the sharpness on his tongue and he gasped out.

     Baron Corbin watched with fascination at his foe’s reaction. He didn’t understand why pouring alcohol over his victim got a stronger reaction that any of his punches or kicks but he didn’t care. He chuckled with glee as he witnessed his prey’s suffering and once he had emptied the bottle, called for another. By the time the second bottle was through, Punk was covered from head to toe and in immense discomfort.

     ‘I wouldn’t usually waste our precious liquor like this,’ Corbin uttered above Punk, who carefully opened one eye to look up at the taller man, despite the constant stinging. ‘But, you see, gasoline is so hard to find these days.’ The colour drained from Punk’s face as Corbin produced a packet of matches from his pocket and lit one up, holding it between his fingers and admiring the flame, enraptured. ‘Alcohol burns just as well,’ he sneered down at Punk, who could only stare back and wait for the inevitable.

     A flash of black came flying through the air, what looked like an arm wound it way around Corbin’s throat and he fell backwards, hitting the ground with a thump. The match fell from his grasp and Punk watched as it floated through the air, waiting for it to hit the whisky strewn ground and engulf his body. It landed with a bump and was instantly stamped out by a black trainer with white soles. Punk looked up and locked eyes with Finn Balór.

     ‘The cavalry’s here,’ he winked at Punk.

     The air became filled with noise and the scene turned to chaos. The men around him began to scatter like leaves in a gale, screaming and shouting as they swarmed around the campsite. Through the clamour, Punk heard loud bangs that made his whole body jolt. He sat, dazed and confused; the only constant being the younger man next to him, standing like a statue in the eye of the storm. Something was different about him. He was calm and collected, yet his whole body was tense; his legs wide apart and his arms stiff by his side, his fingers curled like talons. He was poised, ready to attack. He pulled his bandana up over the lower half of his face; the demon he kept hidden deep within him was now baring its teeth.

     Punk heard a groan beside him and turned to see Baron Corbin getting to his feet, clutching his throat with his hand.

     ‘What you waiting for?’ Corbin snarled at Finn. ‘Try that again.’

     Finn rushed forward and sprang high, landing a killer double kick straight into Corbin’s chest that staggered the larger man. Immediately Finn was back up and stalking his opponent, Corbin chuckling as he faced down the Irishman. He threw a wild punch which Finn easily dodged before landed two punches of his own on the towering man’s face followed by a round-house kick in his mid-drift. Baron stumbled and Finn rushed forward, threw his arm around Corbin’s throat again (in a move that Punk recognised as a ‘Sling-blade’) and slammed his opponent backwards onto the hard ground. This time, he did not get back up.

     The fight was over in seconds and Punk stared, in awe of the younger man’s skills in combat. Baron hadn’t even got a single punch in and Finn had danced around him, anticipating every move and finding the gaps to unleash his attacks. It had almost looked like some kind of choreographed routine, only Corbin had been asked to fill the role at the last minute. It became clear to Punk that Finn had been raised by The Fight, a fledgling of conflict, grounded by a broken wing the past few days but now rid of his splint and taking to the air. The heat of the battle was his natural habitat where he could be free to soar once more.

     Just as Finn had defeated their leader, the melee around them died down. Punk turned his head and was shocked to discover several bodies of gang members lying scattered around him, their eyes open and vacant. Two men were stalking among the dead, dressed in black with matching leather jackets. They each had handguns in their grasp.

     _The Bullet Club_ , he realised with dread.

   He watched as the two men crept up to Finn who had his back to them, keeping an eye on the fallen Baron Corbin as he coughed on the ground. Punk was about to shout out and warn the younger man but he stopped when he saw what happened next. Finn held his hand out to one of the men without even looking at him, the exact same gesture he had given to Punk when they had first met, and the Bullet Club member handed him his gun. Weapon in hand, Finn walked up to Corbin, chin raised and trigger finger poised.

     ‘What did I tell you would happen if you ever trespassed on my territory again?’ Finn growled, his voice bringing chills to Punk’s bones.

     Corbin chuckled. ‘I heard you were dead.’

     ‘You heard wrong,’ Finn hissed and raised the gun. Punk jumped as the scream of the bullet ripped through the air. Corbin stopped coughing and everything went silent.

     ‘Thank you, brother,’ Finn said, returning the gun to the Bullet Club member.

     ‘It’s good to have you back, Prince,’ the man smiled enthusiastically and Finn warmly wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

     ‘It’s good to be back.’

     ‘Prince?’ Punk yelled and the three men looked towards him, almost as if they had forgotten he was there.

     ‘Ooh, yeah, I should explain…’ Finn said, walking over to Punk and scratching the back of his neck.

     ‘Why the fuck is he calling you Prince?’ Punk yelled at the Irishman, his face turning red with fury.

     ‘Ok, so maaayybe I was only 99% honest wit’cha back there,’ Finn confessed while Punk gritted his teeth. ‘My name’s not Finn Balór. It’s Fergal. Fergal Devitt.’


	22. The Bullet Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 22 cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-22-cover-819399038)
> 
> It's another loooong chapter, folks, but we've a lot of of background to cover to set up the next leg of our tale (yes, we'll be sticking with the Bullet Club for a little while). As always, kudos and comments are welcome - they put a little sunshine in my cold, black heart!

      ‘Fergal Devitt?’ Punk yelled, incensed. ‘As in Prince Devitt? You’re the goddamn _leader_ of the Bullet Club?’

     The silence lingered for a while, almost as if somebody had pressed the pause button. Punk was sat on his knees on the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back, soaked through and reeking of whisky, his eyes red and bloodshot, matching the colour of his face. The man he had known until now as Finn Balór stood over him, scratching the back of his neck with guilt, yet, like everything else about him, it looked to be an act. A gesture to trick Punk into thinking he actually cared what the Chicago native thought about him.

     ‘That’s me,’ Finn – no, Prince Devitt – finally confessed and shrugged in a manner that asked ‘what else can I say?’

     ‘I knew it! I _knew_ we couldn’t trust you!’ Punk screamed, feeling fury take over him.

     ‘So, I told a little white lie,’ Devitt shrugged again, ‘everything else I said was true, more or less.’

     Punk shook his head violently, frustration building in him and threatening to burst out. ‘Well go on! Get it over with for fuck’s sake!’

     ‘What are you on about?’

     ‘Finish me off.’

     Devitt let out a small laugh. ‘You’re joking, right? I just saved your life! Why would I do that if I was only going to kill you.’

     ‘To settle our score. I saved your life, now you’ve saved mine. We’re even now so you can wipe your hands of me.’

     ‘You really think I’m that cold?’

     ‘I just watched you shoot a man in his goddamn skull!’

     ‘That man was seconds away from setting you on fire!’

     ‘You beat him! It was over, he was finished, but you still had to kill him. Tick another enemy off your list!’

     Devitt rubbed his hand over his face and groaned loudly. He crouched down until he was eye level with Punk and his voice became softer. ‘I knew that man,’ he confessed to Punk. ‘I banished him from Bullet Club lands months ago and promised if he ever returned I would kill him personally. I am a man of my word.’

     Punk laughed wryly. ‘So you killed him to keep your word?’

     ‘I warned him never to return and he came back with an army. That’s an act of war against me. He then has the gall to kidnap, assault and try to burn my friend alive-‘

     ‘I’m not your friend!’ Punk snapped.

     ‘You may not believe this, but I actually like you, Punk,’ Devitt informed him. ‘I like you and I like Colt-‘

     ‘Colt!’ Punk said, his eyes widening as he realised his friend was not with them. ‘Where is Colt? What did you do to him?’

     Devitt sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. ‘He’s fine. Corbin’s men gave him a really nasty bump on the head and he was badly concussed so I had some of my brothers take him to our camp-‘

     ‘You had the Bullet Club take him back to their camp?’ Punk yelled, fear evident in his face.

     ‘I’m telling you, he’s fine,’ Devitt said, starting to raise his voice, finally. ‘This is what I’m trying to tell you, I’m-‘

     ‘Take me to him! NOW!’ Punk ordered and Finn gave up.

     ‘Ok, fine. We can talk about this later.’

     ‘There won’t be a later,’ Punk scoffed. ‘Once you take me to Colt, we’re getting as far away from your worthless lying ass as possible. Now un-cuff me!’

     ‘Nick,’ Devitt called over to the two Bullet Club members, who looked to be a few years younger than him. They both looked very similar with long, dark hair giving away the fact that they were related somehow. One of them came forward and crouched down beside his leader.

     ‘Yes, Prince?’ he asked.

     ‘See what you can do to get Punk out of his cuffs.’

     ‘Yes, brother.’ He went round behind Punk while the former wrestler kept his eyes trained on Devitt. Presently, he felt his hands being lifted to help the much younger man inspect his restraints. ‘They’re on really tight,’ Nick informed the pair. ‘I’d need my tools to get them off but they’re back at the camp.’

     ‘What can you do right now?’ Devitt asked.

     ‘I could break the chain,’ Nick said. ‘Do you have a chisel or something I can use?’

     ‘ _I_ don’t,’ Devitt said and gave Punk a knowing look.

     Punk sighed through his nose. ‘Look in my belt. Left side.’

     Nick lifted Punk’s jacket and found the lead pipe stuffed into his belt. ‘This could work, thanks,’ he said, ‘now, come this way.’

     Nick lead Punk over to a large rock and although it proved very awkward, managed to get it so that Punk could spread his hands across the hard, flat surface, exposing the short chain binding them together. Using his leadpipe as a chisel and a rock as a hammer, Nick managed to snap the short strand of metal. As soon as Punk heard the chain break, he lunged forward, grabbing Devitt by the shirt and throwing him to the ground. The two men fell clumsily but Punk got the upper hand and managed to straddle the younger man, one hand grabbing Devitt’s shirt, the other poised in the air, ready to strike.

     He stopped on hearing two safety catches being released and in his peripheral vision caught the two young men standing with their guns trained on his head.

     ‘Get off of him right now or else-‘ Nick started.

     ‘Stand down!’ Devitt yelled but the two men paused, unsure.

     ‘Prince, he might-‘

     ‘I deserve this,’ Devitt confessed and the two men lowered their weapons. ‘Ok, Punk, you get one free shot-‘ Punk’s fist came down rapidly and landed two nasty punches right in Devitt’s mouth. The Irishman reeled back in shock from the blows but smiled afterwards, blood smeared across his teeth. ‘Fine, we’ll count those as one. Feel better now?’

     ‘No. Take me to Colt.’

 

     The Bullet Club camp was only an hour and a half’s walk away and the four men kept up a quick pace the entire time. Devitt caught up with the two younger men who were visibly full of joy to see their commander back alive and well while Punk hung back, keeping an wary eye on all three. He was particularly taciturn on the journey, a million thoughts running through his mind, the main one being reaching Colt and getting him as far away from this lot as possible.

     The camp was certainly not huge but bigger than Punk expected. From the number of tents he assumed there must have been around fifty members of the Bullet Club if not more. As they approached, they saw a figure on the hillside, who, on seeing them draw closer, turned and ran down the slope yelling out ‘it’s him, it’s Prince, it’s really him!’

     Punk watched as the entire camp gathered to witness Devitt’s return and when the Irishman made his way over the crest of the hill, a large cheer went up from the crowd. They all rushed forward to welcome their leader back personally, and Devitt smiled wide as he greeted each face and accepted every handshake, laughing as he was hoisted onto several men’s shoulders. It was a hero’s welcome, if ever Punk had seen it.

     The crowd parted and two men strode through the gap towards Devitt who was still raised up on his men’s shoulders. At the arrival of the two newcomers, he was immediately set down on the ground and watched as the two men came closer.

   ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ one of the men said, his head shaved clean with a tidy black beard lining his chin.

     ‘It really is you, brother,’ the other stated. Like his companion, he was bald and bearded but towered over most of the other men in the camp.

     In response, Finn raised his hand in some sort of strange gesture. His two middle fingers clamped down on his thumb while his forefingers and pinkie were raised. The two bald men replied with the same gesture and all at once, they reached up and touched their fingertips together.

     ‘Too sweet,’ they all cheered and Devitt was engulfed in two massive bear hugs. The three men started laughing and the entire crowd cheered again.

     ‘Eh-hem,’ Punk cleared his throat right next to the reunited friends and Devitt reluctantly pulled away. He turned to face the Chicago native, finding him completely unmoved by the emotional scenes with his arms folded across his chest. ‘This is touching and all but where the fuck is Colt?’

     Before Devitt had a chance to answer, the shorter of the two men intervened. ‘Hey, buddy, you mind? We were having a moment here.’

     The larger man then decided to step in. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are anyway? Talking to Prince like that. Do you have any idea who it is you’re speaking to?’

     ‘Do we need to teach you some respect?’

     ‘Hey, don’t lecture me about respect,’ Punk spat back, undeterred by their threats, his arms still crossed and his face as hard as stone. ‘You _earn_ respect and this man right here,’ he shot a look at Devitt, ‘has earned nothing from me!’

     The two bald men were about to rush forward when Devitt stepped in between them. ‘Woah, woah, steady there, brothers.’

     ‘Who is this asshole?’ The smaller man demanded, gesturing to Punk.

     ‘He’s the man who saved my life,’ Devitt informed them and the two men instantly backed down. ‘And while he’s here, he’s to be treated with the same level of respect as me. He bears the mark.’

     ‘The mark of the Apex Predator?’ the larger man asked in disbelief.

     ‘Again, with this fucking mark,’ Punk rolled his eyes. ‘It’s a fucking bite wound! From a human being’s mouth-‘

     ‘The very same,’ Devitt said, Punk’s words falling on deaf ears. ‘His friend Colt was brought here earlier. I expect the same level of hospitality to him as well. He bound my wounds, fed me and treated me like a friend. If anybody even threatens to harm either of these men, there will be repercussions, is that clear?’

     ‘Yes, brother,’ the entire crowd around them echoed.

     Devitt nodded, satisfied. ‘Nick, Matt, find out where Omega took Colt and take Punk to see him.’

     ‘Yes, brother,’ the two men eagerly saluted back.

     ‘I’ll be by to check on Colt later,’ Devitt said, placing his hand warmly on Punk’s shoulder.

     ‘Don’t bother,’ Punk rebutted, slapping his hand off again.

     Devitt watched as the three men headed off and once they’d turned a corner out of sight, the smile faded from his face and his expression turned hard. He glanced at the two bald men next to him. ‘Have somebody watch those two,’ he commanded, ‘do not, under any circumstance, let them leave the camp.’

     ‘Understood,’ the two men replied.

     ‘Now,’ Devitt clenched his jaw, ‘where is Styles?’

 

     Devitt burst through the canvas doors of his large, spacious tent and was furious to find his second-in-command, AJ Styles, sitting on his floor, examining his maps.

     ‘Well, well well,’ Styles grinned, pulling himself to his feet and opening his arms wide to welcome his leader back. ‘So those weren’t just crazy rumours going around. You really are alive.’

     ‘Yeah, sorry to disappoint you.’

     ‘Huh?’ Styles looked confused. ‘What you talking about?’

     ‘I come back to find the entire camp waiting for me, everybody, that is, except you. My own second couldn’t find the time to get off his arse and come welcome his brother back from the dead?’

     ‘Look, I’m sorry I missed your triumphant return but I thought I’d let the boys have this one.’

     ‘The boys should have seen their second welcome their leader with open arms. You should have been first in the crowd to set an example,’ Devitt argued.

     ‘Well, I’ve been a little busy since you’ve been gone, having to run the camp and keep the boys under control. Surely, my commitment to my duty is setting enough of an example or at least I sure as hell think it is.’

     Devitt gave a dry laugh and smirked at his second. ‘Duty? Is that what you’re calling it?’

     ‘What you talking about?’

     ‘I mean, I was barely gone a week and yet you managed to slither your way right into the role of leader of the Bullet Club. From where I’m standing, that’s not duty, that’s ambition.’

     ‘You think I wanted this?’ Styles said, shocked at Devitt’s claim.

     ‘I think you grabbed the opportunity with both hands-‘

     ‘Prince, you was gone, we all thought you were dead. The boys were lookin’ to me to lead them and I had no choice but to take charge, for their sake.’

     Devitt smiled wryly, shaking his head. ‘Everyone thought I was dead, huh? Who told them that exactly?’

     ‘I did,’ Styles said without hesitation.

     ‘You were there, Styles, you know what happened. You saw them drugging me and taking me away while you just ran off like a coward and left me behind.’

     Styles was shocked to silence. ‘That’s what you think happened, huh?’ he asked, incredulously. ‘I can’t believe what I’m hearin’.’ He stopped himself and managed to calm himself down. Eventually he faced Devitt, who stood with his arms crossed, staring daggers at his second, waiting for an explanation. ‘I don’t blame you for getting your wires all in a twist. They had pounced on you before I even knew it and by the time I got stepped in you were already snoozin’.’ He set his jaw and locked eyes with Devitt. ‘I tried to fight them off; I swear to you, I tried. And I paid the price for it.’ He lifted up his shirt and revealed bandages wound tightly around his lower torso. He slowly unwrapped the bindings from his body while Devitt watched with a growing feeling of remorse in his throat. The guilt hit him hard on seeing the gruesome injury under the dressing. The wound was long and jagged, reaching across Style’s stomach and down his left hip. It had since been cleaned and stitched but was clearly still healing.

     ‘What did they do to you?’

     ‘Knife wound,’ Styles explained. ‘Left the damn thing in me too. I woke up to find half of my guts hanging out of me.’

     Devitt released a gulp in his throat. This explained why his assassins had resorted to beating him to death; they had left their only weapon behind.

     ‘I managed to find my way back to camp and get help.’

     ‘Did you come looking for me?’

     ‘We did, ask Gallows and Anderson. We had everybody out searching for you. For _days_ , we searched and when we found nothing, it just about killed all morale among the boys. I thought the best thing was to get us moving again, try to keep everyone’s minds off the whole damn thing. I had to tell them you was dead to ease the blow. It was easier for them to leave knowing you were gone for good than leave knowing there was even the slightest chance you were still alive somehow.’

     Devitt sighed and lowered his head. ‘I understand,’ he said, finally. ‘I’m sorry, brother.’

     ‘Don’t be, brother,’ Styles smiled back, pulling Devitt into a warm embrace, which he reciprocated. ‘You’ve been to hell and back these past few days. You look like shit.’

     ‘You should have seen me before the swelling went down.’

     ‘I hear the men who saved you are in the camp right now?’

     ‘Yes,’ Devitt confirmed. ‘I promised them a reward if they got me back here safely and I’m-‘

     ‘A man of your word,’ Styles finished off.

     ‘Predictable too, it seem,’ Devitt grinned. ‘Anyway, I need to check the stores and the armoury then-‘

     ‘No, no, no,’ Styles chided the younger man. ‘You, my brother, are getting some rest. From what I heard, you went toe-to-toe with Corbin a couple of hours ago and you’re still not fully healed yet, you crazy bastard. I’ve got everything under control, you just focus on getting back to 100%.’

     ‘Thank you, brother,’ Devitt said as he settled on top of a pile of throws. ‘I guess getting some rest sounds like a good idea. Wake me in an hour?’

     ‘Sure thing, brother.’

     Devitt closed his eyes and waited until Styles footsteps receded out of his tent and as soon as he knew he was alone, he shot up. He glanced around the tent, spotting his maps still strewn across the floor, left behind by Styles. He examined them for a few minutes then shook his head with frustration.

    Standing up, he peeked out his tent door and finding no sign of Styles slipped out into the open.

     ‘Hey Fale,’ he grabbed a passing member of the Bullet Club. ‘Those two men who arrived here earlier – where are they?’

     ‘Omega and the Young Bucks escorted them over to the river,’ the large man replied. ‘I think they’re still there. Want me to show you?’

     ‘No, that’s fine,’ Devitt said. ‘I’ll find my way.’

 

     Colt sat on the shore of the river staring into space as Punk scrubbed himself in the cold water. He became vaguely aware of footsteps approaching him from behind and turned to see Prince Devitt standing above him.

     ‘Hey, Colt,’ he greeted with a grin, taking a seat beside the Chicago native.

     ‘Hey… Prince?’ Colt replied, unsurely.

     ‘You can still call me Finn if you want,’ Devitt said, ‘I kind of like it.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘Anyway, how are you feeling? Any better?’

     ‘Still a bit woozy but I’m feeling better being out in the fresh air,’ Colt replied.

     ‘Glad to hear it,’ Devitt responded. ‘Listen, about lying to you about who I was, I’m really sorry-‘

     ‘You don’t need to explain yourself to me,’ Colt smiled warmly at the younger man. ‘I get it.’

     ‘Really? You’re not mad?’

     ‘No, in fact, I wanted to thank you.’

     ‘For what?’

     ‘For saving Punk.’

     ‘You don’t need to-‘

     ‘And for wiping that scum, Baron Corbin, off the face of the earth.’

     ‘Colt?’ Devitt turned to the former wrestler, unsure that he had heard him right.

     ‘Punk told me what happened,’ Colt said, his face as hard as granite. ‘If you hadn’t killed him, I sure as hell would have.’

     ‘Really?’ Devitt asked, skeptically.

     ‘I would do anything to protect the people I care about.’

     ‘I know,’ Devitt said and Colt turned to him. ‘I could see that quality in you from the start,’ he added. ‘Punk’s the same. He would never let anything happen to you. That’s why he couldn’t bring himself to trust me. Fair play to him, he wasn’t wrong.’

     ‘He’ll come round.’

     ‘You think so?’

     Colt scrunched up his face. ‘Maybe. He’s a stubborn guy but you’re pretty persuasive. Just do what you do best and make it hard for him to argue back. It drives him fucking nuts.’ Colt laughed and Devitt smiled. Colt picked up on an unusual vibe coming from the young man and gave him a strange look. ‘Hey, you ok, buddy?’

     ‘I don’t know...’

     ‘I thought you’d be thrilled to be back with your family.’

     ‘Me too…’

     ‘You’re thinking about what that guy said, huh? ‘Bout the Bullet Club putting the hit out?’

     Devitt glanced around nervously making sure no one could hear them. ‘I’m just paranoid.’

     ‘You know what, I was there when Omega first told people you were alive and the whole place was buzzing. You’re loved by these guys, any idiot could see that.’

     ‘So you think that guy was-?’

     ‘Trying to get under your skin? Yeah, I do. So stop worrying about it.’

     ‘Fine, I will.’ Devitt looked up at Colt and found him staring intensely ahead. He followed his gaze and it fell on Punk who was still in the river. ‘What’s up?’

     ‘He’s been out there a really long time,’ Colt pointed out, ‘I think something’s not right.’

     ‘Well, he did have a traumatic experience a few hours ago. I mean a guy tried to set him alight-‘

     ‘Nah, I don’t think that’s it. I’ll be right back.’ Colt shrugged off his jacket and waded out into the water while Devitt watched from the shore.

     Punk was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the slow flowing water, which came up to his chest. He had his shirt off and was using it to frantically scrub at his skin. As Colt approached he saw his friend’s skin was a dark shade of blue and he was shivering uncontrollably.

     ‘Hey Punk,’ he said, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder and Punk instantly jumped with fright.

     ‘Oh, hey Colt.’ After seeing who it was, Punk relaxed again and went back to scouring his body.

     ‘You ready to head back yet?’

     ‘Not yet,’ he replied, without turning around.

     ‘You sure? You’ve been out here for like an hour?’

     Punk froze and turned around, his eyebrows furrowed with confusion. ‘What?’

     ‘You’ve been out here for almost an hour.’

     ‘Oh.’ Punk’s eyes darted around in his sockets. ‘Look, I need just a little more time, ok?’

     ‘Come on,’ Colt said, walking around to face Punk. ‘Speak to me, what’s-‘ he stopped on seeing the state of his companion. It was hard to tell from a distance as his tattoos had masked them but now he was up close he could see that his arms and chest had been scrubbed so vigorously that his skin had been rubbed raw, in some places even drawing blood. His hands were trembling so badly he could barely curl his fingers yet the grip on his soaked shirt was vice-like. Colt tried to look his friend in the eye but Punk had lowered his head and was chewing furiously on his lip ring.

     ‘I can’t get rid of it,’ he confessed in a whisper.

     ‘Rid of what?’

     ‘The smell.’ His face tensed up and Colt could tell he was gritting his teeth. ‘I smell just like _he_ used to.’

     Colt heaved a sigh as it all became clear. ‘You’re not your father,’ he said, trying to comfort his friend.

     ‘I’ve never been so fucking humiliated my whole life,’ Punk said, bitterly. ‘The way they all laughed as he just poured that shit all over me. It was like I was some fucking kid again. I just felt so… weak.’

     ‘You’re not weak. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known.’

     ‘You know, I never even checked to see if they were still alive?’ Punk’s head shot up and his hazel eyes locked onto Colt’s. ‘I didn’t even visit the house I grew up in. What kind of son am I?’

     Colt let out a heavy sigh. ‘Punk, this isn’t going to be easy to hear, but you haven’t been their son for a long time.’

     ‘I know that, but when shit like the Event goes down, isn’t that when you’re meant to have some kind of epiphany?’

     ‘I don’t know what that means.’

     ‘You realise you’ve been wrong this entire time and you’re meant to make up. Forgive them.’

     ‘Do you? Forgive them?’

     Punk lowered his head again. ‘No. And that’s the problem. Colt…’ he looked at his friend again, ‘I don’t even care if they’re alive or not. I’m such a jerk.’

     ‘You’re not a jerk,’ Colt placed a reassuring hand on his friend’s trembling arm. ‘You do care, only, you care about the people you love and actually love you back. You went looking for Chez, Chaleen, the family that actually matter to you. You came looking for me, Cliff, Nat, Lars-‘

     ‘I tried, I really tried.’

     ‘Dude, you smuggled yourself over the border to find us. Most people would be content staying in a luxury hotel, being well fed and sleeping in a warm bed every day, but you gave that all up and headed straight into hell to find us. And most importantly, you are still going through hell to find April.’ Realisation dawned on Punk’s face. ‘You’re a strong, selfless guy and you clearly love her more than anything else.’

     ‘I do,’ Punk said, giving a small smile.

     ‘I know that what happened today stirred up some real bad memories for you, but this is no time to mope around. We’re so close now, you’ve got to be strong, for her.’

     The tension left Punk’s body and he smiled weakly at his friend. ‘You’re right, thank you.’ They both sat still as the water flowed past them.

     ‘Can we go back now?’ Colt asked, shivering.

     ‘Yeah, I’m fucking freezing.’ They turned to head back to shore when Punk stopped in his tracks. ‘What is he doing here?’ he groaned on seeing Devitt waiting for them on the bank.

     ‘He came to check on me,’ Colt explained.

     ‘He doesn’t have his own friends he can play with?’ Punk mocked.

     ‘Cut him a bit of slack,’ Colt pleaded with his friend.

     ‘Cut him-? He’s the fucking leader of the Bullet Club, Colt,’ Punk shot back. ‘He’s killed two guys in the past week and he’s been lying to us this entire time.’

     ‘You promised me you would give him a chance.’

     ‘That was before I found out who he really was. He’s blown it!’

     ‘He had to lie to us. You really think we would have helped him get back home if he had told us who he really was?’

     ‘No and that’s exactly why he should have told us. We would have left him behind and happily gone on with our lives.’

     Colt snorted a wry laugh. ‘Really? The state he was in, you would have just left him? I don’t believe that.’

     ‘We would have been halfway to Tampa by now.’

     ‘We would be dead. _You_ would be dead twice over.’ Colt crossed his arms and stared down his friend, stubbornly. ‘You must have a real short memory. You forget how the Shield was chasing us down, how they nearly finished us off in that fire? You remember what it was like before we found Finn? We were exhausted, Punk, because we had been running for almost two whole days. We’d barely stopped for a rest, we were constantly looking over our shoulder and waiting for the final blow.’ He paused and lowered his arms. ‘I don’t know about you but… I really felt like it was the end for me. I could almost feel the noose tightening around my neck and I was fucking terrified.’

     The tightness left Punk’s face and he sighed. ‘Look, I get it, I-‘

     ‘And who hid us from the Shield and got them off our backs. Finn! And you know what, he was the leader of the Bullet Club then too and he didn’t need to help us but he did. Not only that but when you got taken by Corbin’s men, he ran to your rescue. _He_ didn’t leave _you_ behind.’

     ‘Yeah, I get it!’

     ‘You even thanked him yet.’ Colt watched as the bridge of Punk’s nose began to crinkle. ‘Didn’t think so.’

     ‘I was worried about you, I didn’t have a chance.’

     ‘Well, you do now.’

     By this time, they had waded back into the shallows and Devitt stood up to greet them. Punk turned to the younger man for a few second but then strode past him without even saying a word. Devitt turned and shrugged at Colt who just rolled his eyes.

     ‘Told you he was stubborn as hell,’ Colt groaned and, with the Young Bucks and Kenny Omega in tow, they all headed back to the main camp.

 

     As dusk had fallen by the time they returned from the river, Punk and Colt were given a tent to stay in overnight. Punk was lying on the ground, his clothes hanging up to dry around him while he was wrapped up in a sleeping bag, also donated by the Bullet Club. Colt had headed out to find some food and promptly returned.

     ‘Hey Punkers,’ he greeted as he peeked his head through the tent door, ‘the guys are all having a feast to celebrate Finn’s return-‘

     ‘He’s not called Finn, Colt,’ Punk interrupted flatly.

     ‘… and they’ve invited us to join them,’ Colt finished, ignoring his friend’s snippy comment. ‘You coming?’

     ‘I’m good. I’m turning in for the night.’

     ‘Ok, buddy,’ Colt sighed. ‘See you later.’

     Colt pulled the tent door closed and headed out into the campsite. It didn’t take long for him to find the rest of the Bullet Club as he could hear the noise from a mile away and the warm glow of the large bonfire lit up the gloomy night. Throws and sleeping bags lined the floor circling the fire and here, the members of the infamous group sat, laughing and celebrating loudly. Colt could make out Devitt, sitting on the ground with his fellow men, chatting away with a large smile on his face. He looked much more at ease.

     Not wanting to disturb the young man as he reunited with his brothers, Colt spotted the wild, untamed mane of Kenny Omega who signaled for Colt to join him. Omega had been the one to escort a badly concussed Colt back to the camp and had kept an eye on him until Punk showed up. Even though they hadn’t spoken much during their brief time together (or at least Omega hadn’t spoken much, Colt had just about chewed his ear off) and even though Omega was, in Colt’s opinion, a pretty strange guy, they had formed some kind of bond so he happily sat down next to him.

     ‘Where’s your friend?’ the Canadian asked.

     ‘He’s not feeling great,’ Colt said carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was offend a fifty strong gang of armed killers.

     ‘I hear that’s just what happens when you down two bottles of whisky,’ Omega nodded and gave his signature, bizarre laugh. ‘We’ve all been there, huh? Joking aside though, I hope he feels better soon.’ He leaned back and Colt knew that was the end of their conversation for now. Omega wasn’t much of a talker, cordial enough, but so laid back that he was practically horizontal. In stark contrast were the Young Bucks, who were sat on the other side of Colt. The two young men were stacked full of energy and were already proving to be the life and soul of the party. Colt didn’t know much about the Young Bucks; they had gone to help Punk and, other than removing the handcuffs from Punk’s wrists and escorting them to the river, he hadn’t really spoken to them.

     ‘Er, hi,’ he said, tapping one of the long-haired men on the shoulder. ‘I’m Colt.’

     ‘Hey Colt,’ the young man with long sideburns turned and beamed at the Chicago native. ‘I’m Matt and this is my brother, Nick.’

     ‘Your brother, as in, biological brother-?‘

     ‘As opposed to ‘hey brother’? Yeah, biological. Can you not tell the family resemblance?’ He wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders and pulled him over, placing their heads side-by-side and smiling across at Colt. Even though Nick had been grabbed mid-conversation, he soon twigged and beamed the exact same smile.

     ‘Yeah, I see it,’ Colt laughed and Matt released Nick who was now eager to join their conversation.

     ‘So you’re the other guy who saved Prince?’ Nick asked.

     ‘Yeah… kinda…’ Colt replied.

     ‘Oh, don’t be modest, dude,’ Matt interjected. ‘Tell us all about it.’

     ‘It was mainly my buddy, Punk,’ Colt explained. ‘He broke up the beating and took down the larger guy. I just helped out-‘

     ‘Don’t listen to him,’ a voice interrupted and all three men looked up to see Devitt coming to sit down next to them. He nuzzled in between Colt and Matt and threw his arm around Colt’s shoulders. ‘If he hadn’t acted when he did, I would not have made it. He was also the one who treated my wounds, bandaged me up and kept me fed and rested. He treated me, a complete stranger, like a trusted friend.’ He turned and smiled warmly at Colt. ‘I owe him my life.’

     ‘Thank you… brother.’ They all turned to face Kenny Omega who had spoken these words. Colt eyes widened with shock.

     ‘Did you just call me-?’

     ‘Thank you, brother,’ Matt echoed Omega’s sentiment.

     ‘Thank you, brother,’ Nick swiftly followed. Colt felt an overwhelming rush of emotion. He could see why Devitt doted on his fellow Club members. Despite their fearsome reputation, there was a strong feeling of camaraderie among them. They were all equal, all brothers, even Devitt, their leader, was referred to merely as brother. All sitting in the dirt together, eating their pitiful rations together and travelled the endless road together. Although there was a chain of command, they were treated no differently from the rest of the troop; the only exception being Devitt’s large tent, but this was a necessity in order to hold meetings with his officers. In every other respect, they were one and the same and Colt finally understood why Devitt had been so quick to defend his brethren.

     On hearing the other men call him brother, a surge of warmth engulfed Colt’s chest. He cherished his friendship with Punk, but he had to admit, the last few months had been very lonely. Back in New Chicago, he had been surrounded by people, all of whom he’d considered his friend, and he enjoyed being sociable among the populace. He was suddenly ripped away from that when he decided to join Punk and it left an empty void inside him. Punk certainly did his best to help fill the void but one man could barely match up to where a large group had once been.

     Colt had been most content in their journey when they had been around other people. He’d found security and comfort with the Widows, helping him to work through his grief at the loss of Cliff, he’d found a surrogate family with Mason and Luci in the bunker, even if cabin fever had eventually set in, and that night with Trevor and his family always brought a smile to his face.

     He had really enjoyed having Devitt join their party the last week. He had found an out-going, positive friend to rival Punk’s often sullen moods and it had been a breath of fresh air. He had found Devitt’s penchant for getting under his best friend’s skin hugely entertaining and loved nothing more than to sit back and savour the comedic fireworks. Even though the pair shared very little in common, they never ran out of conversation and often walked together, much to Punk’s chagrin.

     ‘Colt? You’re not getting all choked up are you?’ Devitt’s voice snapped the Chicago native back to reality.

     ‘Who me? Nooo!’ Colt scoffed at the thought and smiled. ‘Just touched,’ he admitted, ‘thank you.’

     ‘Come on, there’s some people I want you to meet,’ Devitt said, standing up and offering his hand to Colt, to help him to his feet. Together, they made their way around the campfire, stopping every now and then as different groups called over to Devitt and he happily paused for a quick chat. Each time, he introduced his latest companion and they all treated Colt with an incredible amount of respect.

     Eventually they made it to the other side of the bonfire, where two bald men were sitting talking to another man with shoulder length hair and a beard.

     ‘Colt, let me introduce you,’ Devitt said, ‘this is my second-in-command, AJ Styles,’ he indicated Styles and they shook hands politely, ‘and these are my blood brothers, Karl Anderson and Luke Gallows.’

     ‘Pleasure to meet you, sirs’ Colt said, holding out his hand. He didn’t know why but he felt very nervous all of a sudden.

     ‘What is this, a business meeting?’ Gallows teased and instead of shaking Colt’s hand, he raised his own hand in a strange gesture. Anderson did the same. Colt stared back, unsure of what to do. ‘Well, don’t just leave me hanging here like a dummy.’ Colt shakily raised his own hand in the Too Sweet gesture and both men tapped their fingertips against his and cheered loudly. Colt had no idea what had just happened. ‘Relax, brother. Take a load off and for the love of god, never call me sir again.’

     ‘You can call me sir, I kinda like it,’ Anderson grinned cheekily. ‘Sir Machine Gun Anderson.’

     ‘You can’t have two stupid nicknames,’ Gallows chastised.

     ‘Look who’s talking, you have a million stupid nicknames!’ Anderson scolded back. ‘Doc Gallows, Big L.G, D.O.C, The Freakin’ Deacon, Festus, _Super_ Festus-‘

     ‘Yeah, yeah, I get the point,’ Gallows yelled over his friend and Colt couldn’t help but smile.

     ‘Colt, is it?’ Styles asked the newcomer and Colt nodded. ‘I wanted to say, on behalf of all the boys and me, thank you for saving the life of-‘

     ‘Yeah, yeah, we’re humbly grateful and all that bullshit! Tell us what happened,’ Anderson interjected and Colt felt his head thrashing from side to side like he was watching a tennis match.

     ‘Uh…. Ok,’ Colt said slowly and recounted the story of how they had stumbled across the gruesome scene in the woods, how Punk had strode out with the empty shotgun then explained his own part in the ensuing fight. Devitt filled in the points where Colt was being too modest.

     ‘Dammit Prince, is this becoming a habit with you or what?’ Gallows guffawed. ‘Did he ever tell you about how we met?’ Colt shook his head so the large man started to tell the tale. ‘My buddy, Karl and I were travelling across Missouri at the time when we hear this hell of a commotion. We follow the noise and somehow come across this kind of gladiatorial contest, two guys fighting each other with a crowd watching and yelling. We decide to hang around and watch, what else was there to do? I mean, free entertainment.

     ‘The fight was brutal, man and the two guys pounded on each other. One had the upper hand; a tall, muscular guy with tattoos all the way up his arm, shaved head. Clearly really strong and an incredible fighter, but we ended up rooting for the smaller guy. He wasn’t as strong but he was quick and scrappy. He was getting a beating but he refused to give up. He had heart and we liked that.’

     ‘So we’re watching this fight,’ Anderson picked up the story, ‘and suddenly the big guy has our guy pretty much beat, he’s even broken his hand and everything, and what does he do? Goes ahead and bites him, right on the shoulder, takes out a chunk of this guy’s flesh.’

     Colt’s face went pale. ‘Orton?’

     ‘The very same,’ Anderson nodded. ‘You know him?’

     ‘We came across the Vipers while crossing the Illinois border,’ Colt explained.

     ‘Nasty son of a bitch,’ Anderson spat.

     ‘So what happened?’ Colt asked, now very much intrigued by their tale.

     ‘OK, so this guy has just had his shoulder ripped into by a dude’s fucking teeth,’ Anderson continued, ‘and most guys would just lie there screaming like a baby until they were put out of their misery. Not our guy. It was like he changed, turned into the Hulk or something. His face went all dark and he discovered this new-found strength to force Orton off of him, swings round and kicks him in the face, nearly knocking his fucking head off. He then grabs his arm and kicks him with both feet so hard in the back that he snaps Orton’s shoulder out of its joint. Man, you should have heard that guy scream.’

     ‘But that’s when all hell broke loose,’ Gallows took the reigns. ‘All the other guys start piling in and start beating the crap out of our guy. We get offended by this; I mean, he had won the fight fair and square, we felt, so we decided to intervene. One little blast in the air from my shotgun and they scatter like rats.’

     ‘ _Your_ shotgun?’ Anderson turned to Gallows, offended. ‘It was nothing to do with your peashooter.’ He turned to Colt with a smirk. ‘They saw me with Ol’ Betsy and that’s what sent them packing.’

     ‘Ol’ Betsy?’ Colt asked with confusion.

     ‘My baby,’ Anderson said with pride and seemingly from out of nowhere, pulled out a vicious looking automatic assault rifle. Colt’s eyes widened at seeing such a dangerous weapon being handled so casually by the man, especially when his fellow Bullet Club members surrounded him. Anderson picked up on his tension and smirked smugly. ‘Why do you think they call me Machine Gun?’ he asked with a sinister grin. Colt gulped on seeing the cold look on the man’s face.

     ‘Don’t fucking listen to him, Colt,’ Gallows said, slapping Anderson on the back of the head and the tension broke instantly. ‘That stupid thing hasn’t been loaded since the day he found it.’

     ‘Hey, when I found Betsy, she still had bullets in her,’ Anderson protested.

     ‘Yeah and you wasted them all taking out that innocent shed, remember?’

     Anderson shrugged. ‘I wanted to try this baby out.’ He smiled at Colt again, only this time it was full of mischief. ‘Worth it.’

     Finn, Styles and Gallows all began laughing and Colt felt much more at ease. It became clear that Anderson was just playing with him before to get a rise out of him… and it had worked! He began to chuckle and once the laughter died down, Colt steered the conversation back to the original point.

     ‘So, after you scared the Vipers off?’

     ‘Oh yeah,’ Gallows replied, having forgotten what they were speaking about before. ‘So we scare the Vipers away and we grab our guy and run like hell, taking him as far away from those dudes as possible. He was pretty beat up and in a bad way but we took care of him and soon enough he finds his strength again. In fact, he found enough strength to become our leader.’ He paused and smiled at Devitt who looked away shyly.

     ‘That… that was you?’ Colt asked with disbelief. ‘You fought Orton?’

     Devitt pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing the scar on his shoulder. There was no doubt who had given the Irishman the nasty wound. ‘Yeap,’ Devitt finally spoke, ‘I fought Orton and bear his mark. Same as Punk.’

     ‘He told you about that?’ Colt asked.

     ‘In a way,’ Devit replied.

     ‘So you actually beat him?’ Colt said with disbelief. ‘Wow, man, that is… impressive, to say the least.’ Devitt merely smiled and nodded his head humbly.

     ‘I was fighting for my life,’ he simply said. ‘It would have been an empty victory if Gallows and Anderson had not intervened. I was in their debt and in the coming months we bonded so strongly that we made a pact. We slashed our palms and became sworn blood brothers. We didn’t know it then but that’s how the Bullet Club started.’

     ‘We then find this one hoarding enough weapons to take over a small country,’ Gallows said, pointing his thumb at Styles who had been rather reserved throughout their tale. ‘And the rest is history.’

     ‘Wow, some story,’ Colt said. ‘I still can’t get over you beating Orton.’

     ‘But do you see now?’ Devitt asked cryptically and Colt looked over to him, confused. ‘The moral of the story? I always repay my debts.’ Colt nodded and suddenly felt very exposed as all four pairs of eyes fixed on him. ‘Colt, I promised I would reward you and Punk once you got me safely to camp and I’m…’

     ‘..a man of my word,’ Gallows, Anderson and Styles chipped in and Devitt rolled his eyes, playfully.

     ‘I told you before, by the river, that I saw this quality in you. You’re loyal to a fault, brave and you will always fight to protect those you care about. I could use a man like you.’

     ‘What are you asking me exactly?’

     ‘I want you to join the Bullet Club.’ Colt was shocked to silence, making Devitt laugh. ‘Please hear me out before you make a decision. We’re never short of food, we have plenty clothing and supplies plus we can offer you the best protection from the Shield.’ Devitt’s face went dark again. ‘If they are ever stupid enough to show their faces here, we would eliminate them permanently.’

     Colt felt a large bead of sweat form on his forehead. He had to put this as delicately as possible. ‘Thank you so much for this honour,’ he started, ‘I mean, really, thank you… but…’

     ‘Punk…’ Devitt sighed.

     ‘We were kinda in the middle of something. A mission, I guess…’

     ‘A mission? You never said-‘

     ‘Punk told me not to tell you – he didn’t trust you.’

     ‘I see. What is your mission?’

     ‘It’s not really _my_ mission, it’s Punks. He’s looking for someone, a close friend… in Tampa.’

     Immediately, Devitt’s face lit up. ‘That’s fine,’ he said.

     ‘Really? You’re not offended?’

     ‘I’m disappointed,’ Devitt confessed, ‘but I completely understand.’

     ‘Thank you, that really means a lot-‘

     ‘We’ll just escort you to Florida then.’

     ‘Huh?’ Colt spluttered, not sure he heard him right.

     ‘It’s the least I could do. We’ll get you to the border safely.’

     ‘Oh really, that’s not necess-‘

     ‘I insist,’ Devitt smiled, ‘and I’m not taking no for an answer.’

     ‘Oh…ok,’ Colt wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘Th-thanks.’ How was he going to break this to Punk in the morning?

     ‘But,’ Devitt leaned in close to Colt. ‘If you ever change your mind, that spot will be waiting for you.’

     ‘Enough sappy stuff,’ Gallows interjected. ‘Let’s celebrate!’

     The party continued into the night and Colt had to admit, he had the time of his life. The brothers of the Bullet Club were welcoming and friendly and they all exchanged stories and laughed at each other’s tales. He watched as Devitt was presented with his jacket (the one he had swiped on the raid with Punk and Colt), which had been lovingly spray-painted with the Bullet Club logo on the back. Colt felt pride bubble up inside him as he witnessed Devitt timidly accept the jacket with a large grin on his face and thank his brothers for the gift. He gave a small speech about the fears he had felt when he had been ripped away from his beloved Club and the joy he felt at being back. Towards the end he was choking up, which Gallows and Anderson cottoned on to and started heckling him brutally. It instantly broke the tension and once Devitt had finished up, they returned to the raucous celebrations.

     Colt returned to the tent in the early hours of the morning to find Punk fast asleep. He snuggled down into his own sleeping bag and thought back on the night’s events. He thought about Devitt’s offer to join the Bullet Club and he had to admit he would be lying if he said he was not a little intrigued by the proposal. He looked over to his slumbering companion and shook his head. His priority was helping Punk, by any means necessary, he decided.

     But…

 

     Devitt walked into his tent after the long night, feeling good about himself. The paranoia from earlier had lifted and he felt at ease being with his brothers again. When he had been taken, he had been so scared he would never see them again but thanks to Colt and Punk he was walking among them again, a free – and very much alive – man.

     He paused as he zipped his canvas door closed on hearing a shuffling noise coming from the back of his tent. Immediately the tension crept back into his throat as he froze, not even daring to breath while he listened carefully. The noise sounded once more.

     He stood up and clenched his fists. _You’re Prince Devitt_ ,’ he thought to himself, _not some kid who’s afraid of the dark!_

     ‘Who’s there?’ he demanded into the shadows. The shuffling stopped as if the intruder had frozen still. ‘I know you’re there.’ He waited but the silence remained. ‘If you don’t show yourself, this will not end well for you.’

     Nothing responded so Devitt slowly moved toward the back of his tent where the noise had come from. Each time he took a step, he paused, craning his ears for any sound, anticipating a sudden attack, yet nothing came. Finally, he reached the back of his tent and found no one there. His shoulders dropped and his mind began sprinting a hundred miles a second. Grabbing his pack, he brought out his torch and searched the dark tent for any sign of life.

     Nothing! There was nobody else with him.

     Had it all been his imagination? His paranoia getting the better of him again? He placed a hand to his head and rubbed his temples, trying to calm his jittery brain. Letting out a long sigh he turned to get some sleep when he spotted it.

     Somebody had broken into his locked trunk and his personal effects were strewn recklessly across the floor. He knelt on the ground next to the clutter, his lips clenched tightly together as he picked up each item and took stock of everything he had kept in the trunk. His maps were all there, his keys were accounted for but there was one big omission from his personal belongings. He bit so hard on his lip that he drew blood as the colour drained from his face.

     His handgun was missing!


	23. Tensions Rising

     The next day Colt woke up to find Punk munching on some food from their packs.

     ‘Morning, princess,’ Punk greeted him.

     ‘Morning,’ Colt grumbled back, pulling himself up.

     ‘Did you have fun last night?’ Punk asked. There was a sarcastic emphasis on the word ‘fun’.

     ‘I had a good time,’ Colt admitted. ‘They’re actually really nice guys. You should have come, you would have enjoyed yourself.’

     ‘I was out like a light. That never happens.’

     ‘You had a rough day. It was your body telling you to rest. You feel better for it?’

     ‘Yeah, much better. I’m ready to get back on the road. I thought we could head out once we’d both eaten.’

   ‘Ooh, yeah, about that…’ Colt started, scratching the back of his neck.

     ‘What?’ Punk asked slowly, not liking where this was heading.

     ‘Remember how Finn said he owed us…?’

    

     ‘So what the hell is this about you taking us to the border?’ Punk stormed into Devitt’s tent, his face a dark shade of red, making him resemble a beetroot. A vein throbbed out the side of his head as he snarled at the Bullet Club leader.

     Devitt was still tucked up in his sleeping bag, clearly having been woken up by Punk’s sudden intrusion. He slowly sat up on his elbow, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He looked as if he had had a fitful night’s rest.

     ‘Uggh,’ he groaned. ‘It’s too early for yelling, Punk.’

     ‘I’m not in the mood for your shit today, Devitt!’ Punk pointed a finger at the Irishman.

     ‘Ditto,’ Devitt muttered under his breath before sitting up fully and giving Punk his complete attention. ‘You want to do this now?’

     ‘Yeah, I want to do this now,’ Punk said, crossing his arms.

     ‘Punk! Punk, goddammit, wait a sec!’ Colt suddenly ran in and stopped both men in their tracks. All of a sudden, chaos swarmed the tent as several Bullet Club members rushed in like a barrel of rhinos, their guns raised and pointed towards the two men who had burst in on their leader. Immediately Devitt was on his feet and through the melee of yelling voices told his men to stand down. ‘We’re good, brothers,’ he assured them. ‘You can go.’ Reluctantly, the men lowered their weapons and, giving nasty looks towards Punk, they dispersed back through the tent door.

     ‘See what you mean, Colt, these are _real_ nice guys,’ Punk said mockingly to his companion while Devitt flopped onto the floor again with an exhausted sigh, tearing open a water bottle and chugging it down.

     ‘Jeez,’ Colt said on seeing the state of the Irishman. ‘You don’t look so good.’

     ‘Party too hard last night?’ Punk snapped as Devitt trickled some water over his face.

     ‘No, just a bad night’s sleep,’ Devitt confessed, unfazed, as usual, by Punk’s moodiness. ‘Anyway, alcohol is banned from the campsite.’ Punk snorted through his nose, unhappy that his jibe had been masterfully rebuffed. ‘So, how can I help you both today?’

     ‘I’ll make this plain and simple for you,’ Punk stated. ‘You’re _not_ escorting us to Florida.’

     ‘It’s non-negotiable,’ Devitt said flatly and Colt winced, waiting for Punk to explode.

     ‘Are you deaf or just plain stupid?’ Punk shot back. ‘I’m not in your little club. I don’t follow your orders. If I say we’re leaving on our own, we’re damn well leaving on our own.’

     ‘Fine,’ Devitt shrugged and both Punk and Colt were caught off guard.

     ‘Really?’ Colt asked, suspiciously.

     ‘You can leave whenever you want,’ Devitt said softly. He stood up and walked to the door, both Chicago natives stunned to silence. ‘Hey, brother,’ Devitt said, calling over a member of the Bullet Club walking past. ‘Find the Young Bucks and tell them to pack. They’ll be taking Colt and Punk to the border.’

     Punk strode over and gripped Devitt’s arm. ‘You are really starting to piss me off,’ he growled menacingly.

     ‘You have a choice,’ Devitt said, swiping Punk’s hand away. ‘You either travel with us or with the Young Bucks. It’s up to you.’ The two men stared daggers at each other, their bodies tensed up and ready to release their aggression physically if needs be.

     ‘Finn, we understand that you want to repay us but-‘ Colt started, trying to ease the tension.

     ‘Where do you get off telling me what to do?’ Punk snarled. Devitt remained calm.

     ‘I’m just trying to help, Punk,’ he sighed. ‘From what you told me about the Shield, if they ever catch you both, they’ll kill you. I’m only trying to get you to Tampa so you can find your friend.’

     Punk stepped back suddenly, his hazel eyes wide. ‘How did you-?’ he began to say then stopped and turned his poisonous stare onto Colt, who immediately felt guilty at seeing the hurt and betrayal in his friend’s eyes.

     ‘Punk, I didn’t mean to-‘

     ‘Fuck you,’ Punk uttered, shaking his head. He looked at Devitt. ‘And fuck you.’ With that, he stormed out of the tent and away, leaving the other two standing speechless.

     ‘That went well,’ Devitt sighed, rubbing his aching temples.

     ‘I need to go speak to him,’ Colt said and began to follow Punk when Devitt softly grabbed his arm.

     ‘Let him cool off for a bit,’ he said.

 

     Colt didn’t see Punk for the next few hours so to keep his mind off of his guilt he helped the rest of the Bullet Club pack up. The Club owned three carts - one for their food, one for their tents and supplies and one for their arsenal. Clearly this was their most prized possession as it was entirely enclosed to keep their weapons safe from the elements and lovingly cared for by the brothers. Only the officers were allowed access to the cart and even then only after being authorised by either Devitt or Styles. Colt, as an outsider, was kept safely away from the store but he was happy enough to help with taking down the tents and depositing them into the other cart.

     He was paired with Omega and the Young Bucks who he had gotten to know well the night before. He chatted away and laughed as they worked but he was noticeably distracted, feeling as if he had betrayed Punk somehow and being so friendly with the enemy was seemingly making it worse.

     Eventually, as the final items were loaded up, the Bullet Club prepared to leave and still there was no sign of Punk. Colt began to panic that maybe his friend had taken off and left him behind but these worries were instantly eased as he saw his tattooed companion march up with his pack slung across his back.

     ‘Hey, listen I-‘ Colt said on seeing Punk.

     ‘Save it,’ Punk shot back and walked on without even glancing at him.

     They walked on for the rest of the day and into the early hours of the evening. Colt decided to give Punk some more space and tagged along with Kenny Omega.

     ‘What happened between you and your buddy?’ Omega asked as they marched, spotting the Second City Saint walking far ahead of them.

     ‘We’ve had a falling out,’ Colt sighed. ‘My fault, I was a really shitty friend.’

     ‘D’aawww I don’t believe that,’ Omega said.

     ‘It’s true,’ Colt said, sadly. ‘I kinda betrayed him.’

     Omega whistled through his teeth. ‘Well now, that is bad.’

     ‘I did it to help him though,’ Colt replied. ‘He didn’t even let me explain.’

     ‘He will,’ Omega reassured him. ‘He’s been through the ringer the past few days. I’m sure his pride was hurt with that whole Baron Corbin incident. Just give him some time to calm down and he’ll be ready to listen to you.’

     ‘I hope so.’

     ‘I know so.’

     As the darkness became too thick to continue, the Club stopped for the night. The tents were set up masterfully by the brothers and before long, the entire party were fed and ready to sleep. Omega was on watch that night so after their meal, he bid Colt farewell and good luck for his chat with Punk.

     Colt shuffled back to his tent, his mind furiously trying to figure out how he would broach the subject. He had to admit, a part of him was really dreading butting heads with his best friend but he could no longer bear having Punk mad at him. He had to make it right.

     ‘Hey Punkers,’ he said softly as he lifted the canvas door.

   ‘Hey Colt Cabana, how you doin’?’

     Colt paused on seeing his buddy in a surprisingly chipper mood. Maybe Devitt and Omega were right and he just needed some time to cool off. But Colt knew Punk better than that and there was something else going on. He had to tread carefully.

     ‘I’m good,’ he said slowly as he made his way into the tent and took a seat opposite Punk. ‘I didn’t see you at dinner.’

     ‘I ate here,’ Punk replied. He was rifling through his pack but Colt wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing.

     ‘Ok, listen I need to talk to you about earlier.’

     ‘Colt,’ Punk said, interrupting him. ‘It’s fine, I get it.’

     ‘You… you do?’ Colt asked confused.

     ‘Yeah,’ Punk replied. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore.’

     ‘Why?’ Colt asked slowly.

     ‘Because we’re sneaking out of here tonight.’

     Colt sat, staring at his friend as if he had gone mad. ‘You can’t be serious. You heard Finn, he-‘

     ‘Devitt can go to hell for all I care,’ Punk stated. ‘I’m not being held prisoner here another day.’

     ‘You’re not a prisoner, they’re trying to help us-‘

     ‘Wow, someone’s been sipping on the Kool-Aid!’

     ‘Aren’t you sick of running?’ Colt asked him. ‘After the fire, you told me you were tired of having to look over your shoulder every day, sick of being hunted down like a fucking dog.’

     ‘It was actually you who said that,’ Punk pointed out. ‘I only agreed with you.’

     ‘Fine, it doesn’t matter who said it. What matters is that if we stick with the Club, we won’t have to worry about that anymore. The Shield will never attempt anything while we’re with them and even if they’re stupid enough to try, they’ll be gunned down before they get within a mile of us. We can finally relax and focus on finding April.’

     ‘But that’s the problem, Colt, I can’t relax,’ Punk responded. ‘This isn’t protection, it’s a cage. How am I meant to relax when every single person around us is armed to the teeth and if we step one foot out of line, _we’ll_ be the ones gunned down.’

     ‘Finn’s the leader, he won’t let that happen.’

     ‘Devitt had a hit put on him by his own men!’

     ‘That was just one guy trying to mess with him.’

     ‘That _one guy_ was the guy who was hired to take him out! Face it, Colt, we don’t know these people or their history, which means that as long as we’re with them, we’re in danger and I can’t handle that any longer.’

     Colt let out a long sigh. ‘Ok…’ he said, finally.

     Punk looked at his friend with a cocked eyebrow. ‘There’s something up,’ he noted.

     Colt rubbed his hands vigorously over his face, trying to find any way possible of escaping this conversation. He felt like he wanted to bolt from the tent and run away yet he remained, sitting in an awkward silence while his friend looked at him with an intense expression.

     Colt let out a long, haggard sigh. ‘Last night…’ he started to say and Punk leant in, listening intently. He paused for another achingly long time before he continued. ‘Last night… Finn asked if… I…’ He locked eyes with Punk who he could tell was growing impatient. ‘If I… wanted… to join the Bullet Club.’

     ‘Oh,’ Punk said after another long pause. He leant back against the tent wall and crossed his arms loosely. ‘What did you tell him?’

     ‘I told him no,’ Colt said quickly.

     ‘Hmm,’ Punk pursed his lips and nodded his head.

     ‘That’s why I had to tell him about Tampa,’ Colt explained. ‘So that he could understand my reason for saying no. I never told him about April though,’ Colt rushed to emphasise. ‘I only said it was a close friend.’

     ‘I told you already, I got it,’ Punk replied, his gaze lowered to the floor. ‘I know I was in a funk earlier but I’m not mad at you for that anymore.’

     ‘I’m glad,’ Colt sighed. ‘I didn’t want to part ways on a bitter note or anything.’

     Punk’s eyes shot up and he stared at Colt with a heartbroken expression. ‘What do you mean?’

     Colt averted his gaze. His hands started fidgeting violently as he kneaded them in his lap ‘Punk, in the last few months, I have nearly starved to death, I’ve had to fight off Vipers, been stabbed in the arm, almost had my head caved in by Baron Corbin’s boot, nearly had my head blown off and, oh yeah, was this close to having a burning building come down on top of me.’ He paused as he stared down at the ground, unable to face his friend who couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘I’m done.’

     ‘Colt, buddy…’

     ‘I can’t do this anymore,’ Colt said, motioning between them with his finger, yet still not looking at his companion. ‘You know, when you became really sick I was a mess. I sat in the woods on my own and I prayed, I god damn prayed, because, I couldn’t see any other way. I couldn’t help you. It was Luci who saved your life, not me.

     ‘Same with Earl and his cronies back in that town. You stepped up and got our asses out of there, I just ran like hell and left you behind. Heck, even when we fought the Vipers, it was Amy who rescued you from Orton, I didn’t even realise you were gone.’ He was choking back on his emotion now. ‘Then when you were taken by Corbin’s gang… where was I? Flat on my face, that’s where. I keep thinking what if Omega and the Young Bucks had not turned up, what if Finn hadn’t found you when he did. Jesus, you would be-‘ He gulped down and sniffed loudly, trying to stifle his tears. ‘I’ve already watched one of my best friends die because of me, I can’t let the same happen to you.’

     ‘Colt, please-‘

     ‘You know what’s funny,’ Colt said with a dry laugh. ‘Paige fed me some bullshit about my fate being tied with yours. That somehow, I survived the Event to protect you or some shit like that. But I can see clearly now. I’ve done nothing but hold you back from the beginning.’

     ‘I can’t do this without you, buddy.’ Colt finally turned to Punk and could see the moisture gathering in his eyes.

     ‘You can and you will. Leave tonight, just like you planned. But I’m gonna stay here and accept Finn’s offer to join the Bullet Club.’

     ‘Colt, goddammit, don’t-‘

     ‘I’m gonna get some air, ok. I’ll see you before you leave.’ Without another word, Colt bolted from the tent and winded his way through the campsite, trying to put as much distance between himself and his friend. It hurt him so much that he felt sick but it had to be done. They had come through so much together but they were now at a crossroads and there was nothing more to do than go their separate ways. He found a secluded spot on the edge of the campsite and sat on the hard ground, staring out into the night. Moisture kept gathering in his eyes and he batted it away with the back of his sleeve, his emotion bubbling up and threatening to overcome him. He breathed deeply and felt his body start to relax again, and once he felt under control once more, he turned back and wandered into the base.

     He found Devitt sitting with Gallows and Anderson and as he approached they welcome him with large smiles, which instantly became muted on seeing the look on Colt’s face.

     ‘I accept your offer,’ Colt stated. Devitt seemed unsure at first but on hearing Colt’s reasoning, they embraced him and welcomed their newest brother into the fold. He sat with the three men and talked with them for hours.

     By the time, he returned to the tent, Punk was in his sleeping bag with his back to him. His bag was packed, ready to leave later on. Colt felt a bitter kind of relief that he would not be giving his friend a proper send off; he didn’t think he would be strong enough to let him go. Silently he crawled into sleeping bag and stared into space until his own eyes began to close.

 

     After a long day and night, Devitt was relieved to be back in his own bed. As soon as his head had hit the pillow, he had fallen under the Sandman’s spell. He wasn’t sure how long he was out when he was abruptly woken by a strange noise. His eyes sprang open and his whole body went as rigid as a statue, cold sweat beading over his skin.

     The noise sounded again - rustling, coming from the back of his tent. The mysterious trespasser from last night had returned.

     He thought back to the night before; the busted lock on his trunk, the scattered mess… and the missing handgun!

     Panic screamed in his skull and before the intruder had a chance to act, he was on his feet, slinking out of the tent and away.

 

     Colt woke some time around four or five in the morning and his entire body filled with dread. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to coax himself back to sleep but an itch formed in the back of his throat and he knew he had to see for himself. He reluctantly turned around, expecting to see the side of the tent where Punk had been, completely empty.

     However, to his utter surprise, and relief, his best friend was still there, sleeping as peacefully as a known insomniac could. As much joy as this brought to Colt, it also brought confusion. Why had he changed his mind? Was he sticking around hoping that Colt was only bluffing and would come with him eventually? But Colt had already accepted his membership and nothing would change his mind.

     He turned back over with a grunt and that’s when he spotted the third person in the tent with them. He raised his head and saw Devitt curled up in the corner, looking as if he had collapsed in a heap with exhaustion and had not moved since. The appearance of the Bullet Club leader certainly explained why Punk had not gone through with his escape plans tonight, but it also raised more questions. Why was he sleeping here and not in his own lavish tent? What had happened the other day that had kept him up one night and driven him from his tent the next? Were the brothers of the Bullet Club as tight as Devitt had claimed, or was Punk right and there were indeed snakes lurking in the grass?

     Colt pulled the covers over his head. These questions would have to wait until morning.

 

     ‘I thought you two were gonna talk it out?’ Omega scolded Colt as they walked side by side. Punk, as usual was walking alone on the outskirt of the group as they marched on towards the Florida border.

     ‘It didn’t go too well,’ Colt admitted with a sigh, not even glancing towards his friend. He had woken up alone in the tent; Devitt had disappeared before sunrise while Punk had ventured out for an early morning walk to clear his head. Colt hadn’t had a chance to speak to him before they packed up the campsite and moved on. It was apparent that Punk was purposely avoiding him.

     ‘He didn’t hear you out?’ Omega asked.

     ‘He did, but honestly, he didn’t need to. He’d already forgiven me.’

     ‘Sooo… he’s still mad at you? I’m confused as hell.’

     ‘It was me that messed up. Again.’

     ‘Fuck Colt, what’s wrong with you, man?’

     ‘Hell if I know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.’

     ‘Why not? He’s your buddy right?’

     ‘Yeah but… I don’t think we can work this one out. We both want different things.’

     ‘Jesus, what are you two, married or something?’ Omega let out a small laugh.

     ‘Why do people keep saying that?’

     ‘Because if you googled ‘bromance’ all that would come up would be a massive picture of you and Punk.’

     ‘Shut up,’ Colt sulked.

     ‘It’s true and if the rumours I hear about you joining the Bullet Club are also true, you don’t want to leave a sour note lingering between you both.’

     ‘I know that! Do you think I don’t know that?’

     ‘Well, if you’re so smart then why aren’t you making this right?’

     Colt chewed the inside of his cheek and let out a long sigh. ‘Fuck, what is it with you Bullet Club guys? Do you go though some rigorous ‘argument-winning’ training or something?’

     ‘Nah,’ Omega shrugged casually, ‘we’re just naturally good at giving sage advice.’

     The pair stopped suddenly as they noticed the entire troupe had paused in their tracks. Colt looked around him confused while Omega and the other Bullet Club members merely waited patiently for the line to start moving again.

     ‘What’s going on?’ asked Colt.

     ‘Not sure,’ Omega replied. ‘I wouldn’t worry, we’ll be on our way again soon.’

     Colt glanced over and caught Punk’s eye for a second before the Straight Edge Superstar turned away abruptly. He was clearly as confused as Colt was but he was more determined to find out what was going on. ‘Damn it,’ Colt muttered under his breath as he saw his friend making his way forward.

     ‘You better go after him,’ Omega said, also noticing Punk’s movements. ‘Before he gets himself into any trouble.’

   It took Colt a while to maneuver himself through the crowd but eventually he found himself at the front of the troupe.

     ‘Hey, Punk, wait up a sec,’ he shouted as he spotted his friend’s back a few feet away. Punk glanced over his shoulder.

     ‘You see this?’ Punk asked Colt, motioning with his thumb to the scene before them. At the head of the line, there was an unfamiliar caravan now swarmed with members of the Bullet Club who were rifling through it. A little off to the side, three men were standing shivering and watching as their items were thrown onto the ground. Punk noticed Devitt speaking to the men and went over to investigate.

     ‘… and thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen..’ he overheard Devitt say to the three strangers as he approached.

     ‘Devitt!’ Punk yelled and he could see the Irishman’s shoulders droop even from behind.

     ‘I’ll be with you in a second, Punk,’ Devitt glanced over his shoulder but Punk barged in beside him.

     ‘What’s going on here?’ Punk demanded.

     ‘Just a quick stop, we’ll be on our way soon,’ Devitt informed him politely.

     ‘No, I mean, what the hell is going on here,’ Punk corrected him. ‘It looks like you’re taking these guys’ stuff.’

     ‘We’re only collecting our toll,’ Devitt said. ‘Everyone who travels through Bullet Club territory has to pay it. Twenty-five percent of all their supplies. I need to keep my men fed somehow.’

     ‘What?’ Punk asked, disgusted. ‘So you just steal their food and supplies?’

     ‘It’s cool, dude,’ one of the men piped up beside them. ‘We don’t want any trouble.’

     ‘Look at them,’ Punk said, indicating the three men. ‘They’re scared to death. You just swan around with your mass of guns and bully those weaker than you?’

     ‘Punk, may I…?’ Devitt said, motioning for them to step aside for a second.

     ‘I can’t believe this shit! And what happens after you’ve taken their things – you just put a bullet in their head?’ The three men instantly tensed up.

     ‘I promise you, we’re not going to kill you,’ Devitt reassured them. ‘Once we take our cut, we’ll be on our way.’ He turned to Punk and grabbed him roughly by the arm. ‘Punk, a word…’

     Devitt stormed back into the crowd, past a concerned Colt and behind the food supply cart. Once they had stopped, Punk yanked his arm away.

     ‘The fuck I’m letting Colt join a bunch of scum like-‘ he started but was pushed back against the cart wall by Devitt.

     ‘Don’t you _dare_ talk to me like that in front of my men,’ Devitt yelled, the first time he had raised his voice since interrogating his would-be assassin back when they’d first met. Clearly Punk had pushed him too far and his patience had finally snapped. ‘But more importantly, never undermine me in front of-‘

     Punk lunged forward and swung a punch at Devitt but the younger man saw it coming and masterfully sidestepped the blow. Punk hit air but managed to stay on his feet. He turned to face down Devitt once more, the two men starting to gather a small crowd around them, fascinated by the two alpha males finally blowing off their repressed aggression.

     ‘Punk, I don’t want to fight you-‘

     ‘Well, I want to beat the crap out of you so we’re doing this,’ Punk shot back.

     ‘Fine but don’t say I didn’t give you a chance to back down.’

     ‘I never back down.’

     ‘Guys,’ Colt said, jumping in between the pair. ‘Settle down.’

     ‘Get out of my face, Colt,’ Punk yelled at the former wrestler.

     ‘Listen to your friend, Punk,’ Devitt said. ‘This can only end badly for you.’

     ‘You’re so full of shit,’ Punk spat at the Irishman. ‘You pretend to be this great guy but you’re nothing more than a-‘

     ‘I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,’ Devitt warned with a low growl.

     ‘Why? You gonna teach me a lesson? Right here, in front of all your men?’ Punk said, extending his arms and indicating the large crowd watching the scene unfold. ‘This all seems familiar, somehow.’

     ‘Punk, come on, man-‘ Colt said, trying to push the Chicago native back but Punk brushed him aside and strode up to Devitt again.

     ‘That’s right, this is exactly how it went down with Baron Corbin a few days ago,’ he hissed at the younger man. ‘You think you are good and decent, a ‘man of your word’ but you’re not. You are a nasty, sadistic dictator who grinds those beneath him under his boot. You think you are better than Corbin but you and him are exactly the same.’

     The words clearly stung the Bullet Club leader and he was taken aback. Punk, feeling like he had gained the victory this time, gave the younger man a smug grin and began to walk off. He didn’t see the darkness fall over the Irishman’s expression, the way his fingers reached up and grabbed his bandana, pulling the fabric over his lower face, his eyes frosting over.

     The kick was swift and brutal and landed right on the back of Punk’s neck. The Chicagoan smacked hard against the ground while the crowd around them all cringed at the blow. Devitt stood tall over his prey, his jaw clenched and his fists balled.

     ‘Get up!’ he bellowed at Punk, who was trying to pull himself to his elbows. ‘Get up!’

     ‘Woah, woah, woah,’ Colt ran up and kneeled beside his best friend. ‘Punk, buddy, you alright?’

     Punk was seeing stars, the blow having rocked his senses completely. He could barely see straight but pig-headedness kicked in and he stumbled up to his feet. He stood, facing down Devitt, although visibly swaying from side to side. He may not have been able to bite back with his fists but he could still fight. Only this time, his words would be his weapon.

     ‘Some hero you are,’ he snarled at Devitt. ‘Hit a guy in the back of the head when he’s not paying attention.’

     ‘Rules of the jungle,’ Devitt said under his breath. ‘Doesn’t say anything about fighting fair.’

   ‘You don’t fight fair ‘cause you can’t take me and you know it!’ Punk screamed making sure everybody around them could hear him.

     ‘I could take you easy and I’ll prove it.’

     ‘Of course you want to fight me _now_. You just kicked me in the back of the fucking head.’

     ‘Punk! Finn! Will you guys just chill the fuck out!’ Colt tried to reason with them.

     ‘You’re too full of chicken-shit to face me properly. You’re just a scared little boy trying to act the big man in front of your friends.’

   Something inside Devitt snapped and he leapt forward with an animalistic roar and grabbed Punk by the shirt, tackling him to the ground. Punk fell onto his back and Devitt straddled him, pulling his arm back. He struck Punk’s face with a nasty crack, which snapped the Chicago native’s head to the side. Another blow and another followed, as Devitt’s guttural snarls filled the air. Colt tried to rip the two apart but Devitt was too engrossed in his beat down.

     Finally, strong arms wrapped themselves around the Irishman and he was forcibly yanked away from Punk, who lifted himself up onto his elbows and rubbed the side of his face that had taken the pounding. He glared at Devitt who was still struggling like a feral cat as Luke Gallows and Karl Anderson tried to restrain him.

     ‘Hey!’ Styles yelled right in Devitt’s face. ‘What d’you think you’re doing? You’re acting crazy! Chill out!’

     ‘Let me go!’ Devitt screamed, inches away from Style’s face. ‘I’m not finished yet!’

     Before anybody had a chance to react, Styles slapped Devitt hard across his face. The entire camp went silent and waited on bated breath for their leader to react to such blatant disrespect.

     ‘I’m sorry, brother,’ Styles whispered softly. ‘This was for your own good.’

     Devitt slowly turned his face to meet Styles again but all the rage had left his expression and now he sported one of complete shock. His blue eyes looked over to Punk who was still on the ground but being helped up by Colt. The tattooed former wrestler was staring daggers right back at him. At that moment, Devitt became aware of all the eyes on him. Colt was looking at him as if he were some kind of monster, prone to snap at any moment, he saw the Young Bucks with concerned faces trained on him, and every single member of the Club looking at him with dread. He suddenly felt very exposed.

     ‘Come on,’ Styles declared, ‘let’s go for a walk.’ Devitt nodded absent-mindedly and, still firmly in Gallows and Anderson’s grasp, was lead away from the scene. ‘Take a breather, guys,’ Styles instructed the remainder of the Bullet Club.

     ‘Jesus,’ Colt muttered under his breath as the silence around them broke with a dozen mutterings and mumbles, the members of the Bullet Club returning to their duties while their leader was taken away. Colt turned to his friend, who was now sporting an impressive shiner around his left eye. ‘You ok, buddy?’

     He was shocked to see Punk sitting with a smug grin plastered on his face, letting out a low chuckle. ‘I’m better than ok, buddy,’ he replied.

     ‘Wow, that bump on the head must have been nastier than it looked,’ Colt said.

     ‘It hurt like hell but that’s not what I’m talking about.’

     ‘You just had your ass handed to you and you’re not even mad?’

     ‘Oh I’m mad,’ Punk said, his voice laced with poison for a moment. ‘But I didn’t have my ass handed to me. In fact, I gave it to him on a silver platter.’

     ‘What do you mean?’

     ‘I let him beat me. I purposely didn’t fight back.’

     ‘And where did that get you?’

     Punk smirked at Colt with a shit-eating grin. ‘He snapped,’ he said at last. ‘I knew that nice guy stuff was all a front. He finally showed his true colours and you got to see the kind of asshole he really is, the kind of asshole you’re abandoning me for.’

     Punk’s words hit Colt like a kick in the gut.

     ‘So, have you come to your senses?’ Punk asked. ‘You coming with me tonight or what?’

     ‘Punk… look, I need to think things over.’

     ‘WHAT? What is there to think about? He’s a lunatic, you saw how he reacted.’

     ‘I know but… there’s just-.’

     ‘You know what,’ Punk interrupted him, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll make this real easy for you. Stay here.’

     ‘Punk-‘

     ‘You want to be the kind of motherfucker who stabs his best friend in the back? Then stay here – you’ll be in great company.’ Colt let out a long, laboured sigh as he watched his best friend march off out of sight.

 

     Styles, Gallows and Anderson took Devitt a safe distance away from the camp before they released their hold on him, even though the latter was no longer fighting back, instead hanging limp in their arms. When he was let go, he sank onto the hard ground and rubbed his hands over his face.

     ‘So?’ Styles said, standing over his leader, his arms crossed over his chest. ‘You gonna explain to me what the hell that was?’

     ‘I… just… snapped,’ Devitt said, unable to believe his own actions.

     ‘Yeah I saw that, but you don’t ‘just snap’. You’re Mr Cool, Calm-and-Collected. What happened?’

     ‘I’ve not been myself these past few days,’ Devitt admitted. ‘I haven’t slept and I…’ He stopped abruptly and glanced around him, looking at each of his men in turn. Styles, understanding what was wrong, motioned for Gallows and Anderson to leave them and the two men headed back to the camp.

     ‘Don’t want too many ears on this, huh?’ Styles said, taking a seat next to Devitt.

     ‘The less people that know, the better,’ Devitt sighed. ‘I don’t even know who I can trust anymore.’

     ‘What do you mean?’

     Devitt bit his lower lip, a part of his gut was screaming at him not to confide in Styles, his fears and doubts, but that same paranoia was slowly eating him from the inside and it was bubbling up to the surface in unwelcome ways. He had to tell someone other than Colt, someone who could help him look into his kidnapper’s claim and prove once and for all whether there was a traitor in their midst or if it was all one big ploy to mess with him mentally.

     ‘Those men that took me,’ Devitt finally said and Styles was all ears. ‘They were a hit.’

     ‘I figured as much,’ Styles nodded.

     ‘They said they were working for the Bullet Club.’

     ‘Hah, and you believe them?’ Styles guffawed.

     ‘They were adamant,’ Devitt replied. ‘I wasn’t exactly asking nicely.’

     ‘You tortured them for more information?’

     ‘No, when he said it was the Bullet Club, I saw red and killed him. I thought it was all nonsense too, just trying to get under my skin…’

     ‘I sense there’s a ‘but’ coming?’ Styles muttered.

     ‘Someone entered my tent and broke into my trunk,’ Devitt explained, ‘they stole my handgun.’

     ‘Fuck,’ Styles gasped.

     ‘And they’ve been back too. I heard them sneak into my tent last night as well.’

     ‘Well, that explains why you haven’t slept,’ Styles nodded. ‘But why take your handgun, everybody has a weapon anyway.’

     ‘But it’s like you keep reminding me, we’re running out of ammunition. Before I was taken, we barely had anything left. I haven’t checked our weapons cache since I got back - there may be nothing left.’ He scratched a hand through his hair. ‘What is it you say? ‘How can we be the Bullet Club when we don’t have any bullets’.’

     They both let out a wry chuckle but were soon subdued and silent again.

     ‘I’m the only one who carries a Beretta 92F,’ Devitt explained. ‘And I barely use it, I prefer my fists to do the talking. Styles…’ he turned to his second, ‘it’s fully loaded.’

     His deputy nodded solemnly, his chin resting on his entwined fingers, deep in thought. ‘It sure looks like there’s something fishy going on,’ he said. ‘From the sounds of it, it could be one of the lower ranking brothers. One who doesn’t have easy access to our arsenal.’

     ‘That makes sense.’

     ‘I’ll ask around, see if I can weasel out any information from the boys,’ he looked over and saw the doubt in his leader’s face. ‘Don’t worry, brother,’ he rested a hand on Devitt’s shoulder, ‘I’ll be subtle. Nobody will even know why I’m asking, and once we find the culprit, we will… dispose of them nice and quiet-like.’

     ‘If it comes to that,’ Devitt said, sadly. ‘I truly hope it’s nothing more than a mind-game, but something in my gut is telling me I won’t be that lucky.’

     ‘Betrayal among brothers is one of the worst acts,’ Styles agreed, ‘but it’s been around since the days of Cain and Able.’ He looked up and noticed the grief in his leader’s eyes. ‘If you ask me though, it’s bullshit. We know that Baron Corbin’s cronies were around at the time you were taken. You ask me, they are the ones to blame for the hit.’

     ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Devitt admitted. ‘I guess that’s likely.’ Devitt rested his hand on Styles’ shoulder. ‘Thank you, brother, I knew I could count on you.’

     ‘Any time.’

     ‘I’m sorry for ever doubting you.’

     ‘I had the most to gain from you leaving and we don’t always see eye-to-eye. Let’s face it, if it hadn’t been for the fact that I _own_ our impressive weapons stash, you would have had Anderson as your second.’

     ‘Maybe, but I made the right choice and I stand by it.’

     ‘Glad to hear it, brother.’ Styles glanced back over his shoulder. ‘You feel ready to go back yet?’

     Devitt took in a long breath. ‘I have to face the music some time.’

     ‘I would maybe stay away from that Punk guy though.’

     ‘Good idea.’

     They started to walk back and even though Devitt had shared his burden with his second, he still didn’t feel the weight lift from his shoulders.

 

     After their short break, the Bullet Club pushed on, their stores now loaded with the toll they had received earlier and when the darkness crept in, they set up camp once more. The going was slow but it didn’t matter so much when they had strength in numbers and weapons. They could afford to take their time since they were at the top of the food chain in Georgia.

     After their tents had been raised, those who were not on watch duty, sat by multiple small fires, cooking their evening meal, chatting and laughing with their brothers. Colt, once again, found himself with Omega and the Young Bucks, but while they were joking around, he was noticeably subdued, thinking about Punk, who he knew was back in their tent, alone. He hadn’t spoken to him since his altercation with Devitt but he felt it was for the best.

     He hadn’t changed his mind about joining the Bullet Club even after the beating Devitt had given his friend. A part of him didn’t blame the Irishman for his outburst. Punk had a talent for getting under people’s skin and he had purposely been as rude and irksome as possible since the day they had saved the Bullet Club leader from his assassins. Blows were inevitable and he was amazed that it had taken this long for Devitt to snap.

     However, there was a feeling of doubt too. As charming and funny as the younger man was, there was a dark side to him, prone to gruesome violence, and whenever that darkness took hold, it consumed him entirely. He had seen hints of it before when he had murdered his kidnapper but he didn’t even consider that that aggression would be directed at an ally instead of an enemy. Not just any ally either but the man who had saved his life a mere week ago. A man, he had sworn to never harm.

     Perhaps, he was not the man of his word that he claimed to be.

     As miserable as Colt felt, it was nothing compared to the wretchedness that plagued Punk. Still sore from his scuffle with Devitt, he was nursing his aching head in his tent, feeling completely dejected and alone. His situation right now reminded him of his time in Canada; trapped, helpless and isolated. He was growing sick and tired of the four canvas walls, which had been both his sanctuary and prison the past few days. He yearned to be out on the road again, free to roam where he pleased and to push on to Tampa. He was so close to the Florida border he could almost smell April’s sweet perfume, yet it seemed like they would never get there. The group were moving at a snail’s pace, making only a few measly miles of progress a day. Had he and Colt been on their own, they would have reached Tampa by now and he would finally be reunited with the woman he loved, but now he felt like he had ground to a halt and it was irking him like an itch in his belly.

     It wasn’t just the frustration that gnawed at him but the fear too. He was trapped with dozens of men who disliked him at best and despised him at worst and he knew the only thing keeping them from ripping him limb-from-limb was Devitt’s orders. And those orders were certainly not carved in stone. Perhaps, the Bullet Club leader would change his mind after their encounter earlier that day, or maybe he would finally be proven right about dissention within the group and when Devitt was overthrown as leader, they would come for him next.

     Staying in the camp was like being stuck in a cage with sleeping lions. One wrong move and the beasts would awaken…

     Then there was Colt.

     He tried not to think about his friend’s betrayal but it lingered in the back of his mind like a bad song stuck in his head. He knew his friend was scared, especially after their last run in with the Shield and he had said himself that he was sick of running like a fugitive, but he couldn’t forgive him for turning his back. He had embraced the brothers of the Bullet Club and now spent more time with them than he did Punk, choosing to walk with them during the day and talking with them late into the night. Punk had spent all of that time on his own, without another person even looking his way and it left him feeling bitterly abandoned.

     His close call with Baron Corbin had affected him more than he cared to acknowledge. As he had kneeled, bound and beaten while whisky was poured over his entire body, the painfully familiar smell had resurfaced raw memories, ripping the distressing images from the darkness where they had hidden all these years and bringing them kicking and screaming into the light. He had no longer been CM Punk, the tough-as-nails indie darling who had held all the gold and conquered every ring he occupied; he was scrawny, little Phillip Brooks, curled up on the ground, trying to protect himself while his classmates kicked seven shades out of him. Raining down their hate just because he dressed differently and acted differently. He was standing in the shadows in his childhood home, watching as his older brother received every piece of his mother’s praise while he only seemed to deserve her ire. He was sitting on a bench after Little League, soaked to the skin by the rain as he waited alone for his father who he knew had been drinking and forgotten to pick him up yet again.

    It had taken almost two decades but he had moved on from his traumatic upbringing. He had found a new family to love him like a son and a handful of friends who have broken down his defenses and allowed him to be his true self. Now, there was even a girl. Not just a girl but The One. Someone he would happily spend the rest of his life with. He found it hard coming to terms with the fact that he was utterly in love.

     Yet for every step he had taken to move forward, he suddenly felt like he was slipping backwards into the dark. Thanks to Corbin, his powerful childhood trauma had been unleashed once more and he was struggling to force it back down again. That, mixed with the constant isolation allowed the pain to take root and fester within him, spreading like a cancer each day. The realisation that Colt was leaving him only highlighted what his demons had been telling him.

     _You’re alone. You’ve always been alone and you always will be._

     He was snapped from his melancholy by the door to his tent being unzipped. He sat up, hoping to see Colt’s friendly face peeking through the door but instead he froze on seeing a stranger. He immediately sprung up into a crouch, his legs coiled beneath him and ready to strike. The time had come; he was to fight for his life.

     ‘Woah, relax, I’m not gonna hurt you,’ the man said, putting his hands up, but Punk refused to believe him, his wide hazel eyes trained on the man like a mouse on a snake. ‘I promise, look.’ The man reached behind him, taking out his gun. Punk felt a breath catch in his throat on seeing the weapon as the man opened the handgun to show him the bullets in the magazine then offered the piece to Punk. The Chicago native looked at the gun with confusion.

     ‘Take it,’ he said, ‘as you can see, it’s loaded. If I try anything, you have permission to shoot me, ok?’ Punk grabbed the gun and taking the safety off, pointed the weapon at the man. He immediately put his hands up.

     ‘Get out!’ Punk instructed the man. ‘Get the fuck out now.’

     ‘Look, I want to talk to you,’ the man said. ‘Only talk. I saw what happened earlier and I believe we’re on the same side.’

     ‘No we’re fucking not now get out.’

     ‘You want to help your friend, uh, Colt, right?’ the man said and could see Punk’s resolve start to waiver. ‘You want the two of you to get out of here. I can help you with that.’

     ‘Who the fuck are you?’ Punk growled, although he had to admit, he was rather intrigued by the man’s offer.

     The man smiled slightly on seeing the subtle change in the former wrestler’s expression.

     ‘My name is AJ Styles.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens...
> 
> Like a lot of writers, music plays a huge part in helping me visualise a story. While writing the Bullet Club arc, I discovered the band Starset who perfectly captured my version of Finn Balor's inner voice, in particular, the song 'Monster'. It was a major inspiration in crafting this arc so go have a listen and see if you can sense Finn's inner turmoil and paranoia.


	24. Tensions Boil Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * Warning: This chapter contains some distressing scenes *

   ‘AJ Styles? You’re Devitt’s second-in-command?’ Punk asked the intruder, who nodded in response. ‘Why are you here? Did he send you?’

     ‘Like I said, I’m here to talk and no, he didn’t,’ Styles replied.

     ‘You said you could help us get out of here – how?’

     Styles glanced behind him into the night. ‘I’d be happier talking about this behind closed doors.’

     Punk lingered for a moment, the gun still aimed at the man’s head. Finally, he lowered the weapon and nodded for the man to enter. Styles moved further into the tent and zipped the door closed.

     ‘So how you feeling?’ Styles asked, settling down opposite Punk who kept his eyes trained on him. ‘After this afternoon, I mean.’

     ‘Good as new,’ he said flatly. His black eye had deepened in colour since the afternoon, now a rich shade of navy and red.

     Styles chuckled at the man’s defiance. ‘I like you, kid,’ he admitted.

     ‘Don’t call me kid,’ Punk growled.

     ‘Sorry, force of habit,’ Styles admitted. ’You’re younger than me though, right?’

     ‘I don’t see what this has to do with getting Colt and I out of here,’ said Punk, growing annoyed.

     ‘We’ll get to it,’ Styles assured him, ‘but first I want to talk about earlier. Your little run-in with Prince.’

     ‘Yeah? You come to apologise on his behalf? He’s not man enough to say it to my face, he has to send you?’

     ‘For what it’s worth, I think he actually does feel bad about it,’ Styles admitted. ‘But no, I’m not here to apologise for him, in fact, I condemn what he did.’ Punk sat up straight, suddenly more intrigued. ‘I found it… refreshing to see somebody actually stand up to him for a change.’

     ‘Nobody’s done that before? I thought this was some kind of brotherhood?’

     ‘It is but Prince is its leader. He will always find a way to rise to the top. By any means necessary, even trampling over those he once called brother.’ Punk absorbed what Styles was telling him and motioned for him to continue. ‘Now, I admit, when I first met Prince, back when he was known only as Fergal, he was the nicest, sweetest guy you could meet. Shy and introverted but buoyed by his two blood brothers, Gallows and Anderson. They had been together for a couple of months and worked well as a team – Gallows was the muscle, Anderson the brains and Fergal the charm. They had used their talents to survive. Me, on the other hand, I only had my grit… and enough guns to supply an army.

     ‘You see, before the Event, I had a good life, wife and four kids, stable job, I was happy. Then everything was taken from me in the blink of an eye. My town, my home… my family, and with them my faith, leaving me empty with nothing but bitterness inside. I wished for nothing more than to be with them again, so, one day I got out my shotgun, sat down on the ground where my house had once stood and placed the barrel in my mouth… but was too much of a coward to pull the trigger. I kept thinking of that line in Bible; ‘Be not over much wicked, neither be thou foolish: why shouldest thou die before thy time?’’ He looked at Punk for a reaction but he merely looked back with a blank expression. ‘Not a man of God, huh?’

     ‘Not a man of _any_ God,’ Punk corrected.

     ‘To each his own,’ Styles shrugged. ‘In that moment, I felt both the weakest I had ever been and the strongest. The Lord had found me once more and given me new hope. If I was not meant to be with my family yet, I would not forsake the life he had granted me. I would survive by any means necessary. That’s when I began to collect guns.

     ‘I would raid abandoned gun stores, search through people’s homes and take from anyone who had perished on the road. Handguns, shotguns, ammunition by the bucket load, you name it; I grabbed it. By the time I ran into Fergal and his brothers, I had a whole arsenal at my disposal.’

     ‘And you what, just surrendered it to them?’

     ‘Hell no! I would die before I let that happen. And I was prepared to die as well. When I saw those three men coming, I armed myself to the teeth and prepared for a good old-fashioned show down.

     ‘But they didn’t use force; they used Fergal. Son of a bitch could charm the wings from an angel. They stayed with me a couple weeks and in the end we came to an agreement. They could have access to my weapons, and in return, I would be Fergal’s second. From there, we began to recruit new members and the Bullet Club was formed.’

     ‘This is a nice story and all but are we getting anywhere near the point?’ Punk interrupted.

     ‘Maybe if you tried showing some patience you’d find out,’ Styles shot back with a smirk. Punk rolled his eyes and leaned back, settling in for the rest of the tale. ‘In the early days, Fergal was the same guy I had met that first day but as the Club grew in numbers and we attracted the attention of rival gangs, I saw a change in him. He was always a talented fighter and often the red mist would descend on him in the heat of battle but his actions suddenly became… cruel. As enemies came to take us down, he would not only defeat their leaders, he would humiliate them. Make their followers watch as he tore them limb from limb, sometimes literally. I once watched as he tortured a man for over an hour and when it was finally over, I pulled him aside and asked him why he had done it. He turned to me with these cold eyes, his face and hands covered in the man’s blood and he muttered ‘His men had to hear him scream’.’

     Punk shivered. He knew there had been more to Devitt but he hadn’t imagined the truth to be as shocking as this.

     ‘As time went by, his condition became worse. He became drunk with power and hungry for conquest. We left our base and went on the move, seeking out other parties in the state and putting them to the sword, or I should say, the bullet, leaving nobody alive until we were the only ones standing. That’s when the brothers began to call him _Prince_ Devitt. He started the whole toll system that you saw earlier; where we steal from smaller, vulnerable parties to allow them to travel through our lands. Before he was taken, he was even flirting with the idea of attacking the Widows-‘

     ‘He what?’ Punk spluttered. ‘What kind of sadistic bastard would do that?’

     ‘A demon,’ Styles uttered coldly. ‘Although, I can understand his point. You see, having an impressive arsenal behind us, we became arrogant, wasteful. Every member of the Bullet Club carries a weapon, which means everybody has been trained to use it; endless target practice by fifty odd guys who’ve then gone on to use them either on guard duty or during battles. We have enough guns to arm more members if we want… but our ammunition is rapidly running out. Soon, our guns will be nothing more than pretty trinkets around our waists.’

     ‘So that’s his excuse for attacking Widows? To get their bullets?’

     ‘They’re all privately financed and carry ample ammunition. Brand new equipment too. Prince doesn’t care for lives, only for keeping his power intact. As he always says, ‘How can we be the Bullet Club when we don’t have any bullets?’’

     ‘That son of a bitch…’ Punk muttered to himself.

     ‘I’ve managed to swerve him off the idea until now but since he’s returned, he’s been acting more unstable than ever. His attack on you earlier proved it; he’s losing his mind. That’s why I can’t stand back any longer and watch what he’s doing to you and your friend.’

     ‘What?’ Punk asked, his head snapping up to lock eyes with Styles.

     ‘You didn’t realise?’ Styles asked, arching a brow. ‘The way he talks to you, puts you down?’ Punk stared at him blankly. ‘You’re another leader, Punk. You may not have a gang or a party but you are clearly another alpha male in Prince’s eyes. Somebody else to humiliate and tear down in order to prove his dominance.’

     ‘He’s doesn’t act that way with Colt-‘

     ‘Of course he doesn’t, Colt isn’t a threat, he looks up to _you_. _You’re_ the threat. That’s why he’s stealing your friend away from you.’ The words stung Punk, his own paranoid thoughts thrown in his face by a stranger as if Styles were reading his own mind. He had been loath to admit it but he had been jealous of the bond that had grown between Colt and Devitt and it had only heightened his feelings of isolation. ‘With Colt gone, you will be alone and easy pickings,’ Styles continued, ‘I hate to think what else he has in store after what he pulled with that whole Baron Corbin situation.’

     ‘Baron Corbin?’ Punk said, his voice now low and threatening.

     ‘Did you know that Baron Corbin used to be a brother of the Bullet Club?’

     ‘No, I did not,’ Punk narrowed his eyes, his brows flat and furrowed.

     ‘He was Prince’s favourite once,’ Styles told him and Punk felt fire begin to simmer in his chest. ‘When we encountered him, he was known as the Lone Wolf. He would travel the roads by himself and he’d gained a pretty nasty reputation. Prince admired his strength and immediately invited him to join the Club. The pair shared a lot of the same ideals and were as thick as thieves.’

     ‘So what happened to make him leave?’ Punk asked, his voice growing dark.

     ‘Corbin was not as popular among the boys as he was with Prince. He was constantly rubbing people up the wrong way and getting into brawls. Others didn’t like the closeness he had with our leader. The feud threatened to tear the Club apart. Prince was left with no choice; to turn his brother away or to suffer a mutiny.’

     ‘So he just turned his back on Corbin?’ Punk asked with disbelief.

     ‘This is Prince we’re talking about; as I said before he only cares about keeping his position as leader.’ He paused to allow Punk to absorb what he had heard. ‘But there have been rumours that Prince kept in touch with Corbin somehow, even after he was banished. Getting him to do his dirty work in other states.’

     ‘So what were they doing here, back in Georgia?’

    Styles shrugged. ‘You would have to ask Prince that. It is a bit strange though isn’t it?’ He locked eyes with Punk who stared back with confusion. ‘That Corbin ambushed the three of you on your way here… yet they only took you.’ The impact of what Styles was implying hit Punk and he felt the fire explode within him.

     ‘You’re saying that-?’

     ‘Prince ordered your kidnapping?’ Styles nodded solemnly. ‘Yeah, I am.’

     ‘But why?’ Punk nibbled his lip ring furiously.

     ‘Have you even been listening to me?’ Styles leaned forward, right into Punk’s face. ‘To pull you down a peg or two. To show you who’s really the alpha male in this camp. To teach you a lesson’

     A memory stirred within Punk, fleeting and faint. _Teach him a lesson._ The memory went as quickly as it came and buried itself back into the recesses of his mind.

     ‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ Punk shook his head. ‘He was the one who saved my life.’

     ‘Of course, he _had_ to be the one to save you. Your humiliation would be complete when he came to your rescue. It proved he was the strongest one after all.’

     Punk rubbed his aching temples. Suddenly everything made sense. How Baron Corbin had managed to find them after their random encounter back in North Carolina. Why Colt was knocked out – Devitt had to make sure he couldn’t interfere in the so-called rescue mission. Why he had not removed Punk’s cuffs straight away forcing him to watch Devitt fight his battle against Corbin. Even the stunt with the whisky – Punk had told Devitt about his alcoholic father only days before.

     But then…

     ‘No, wait,’ Punk screwed his eyes shut. ‘Something else doesn’t make sense.’

     ‘What?’ Styles sat back with his arms folded impatiently.

     ‘Devitt killed Corbin, I watched him do it. If he was working with the guy, why kill him?’

     ‘Maybe Corbin had outgrown his usefulness? Maybe he had gotten too big for his boots. From what I heard, he was no longer a Lone Wolf but a wolf pack. Devitt and the Young Bucks killed nearly everyone, just like they have done to every other gang we’ve encountered before. Just another-‘

     ‘-enemy off his list,’ Punk finished. Styles lowered his head, knowingly.

     Punk snorted through his nose. ‘Well, tell your leader that he has nothing to worry about with me. I have no interest in sticking around and stealing his thunder. I’m leaving tonight.’

     It was Styles’ turn to snort in derision this time. ‘Good luck with that.’

     ‘What do you mean?’

     ‘Prince has ordered that you and Colt are kept here by any means necessary. Why else do you think Omega and the Young Bucks have been breathing down your necks the entire time?’

     ‘But you said it yourself – he sees me as a threat? So why keep me here?’

     ‘I think you know the answer to that?’

     Punk chewed on his lip ring and sighed bitterly. ‘To break me.’

     Styles smiled. ‘Spot on. He’s already won over Colt, a little more work on you and he’s won the war.’

     ‘I can’t stay here, it’s eating me up from the inside.’

     ‘And that’s why I’m here,’ Styles said as Punk looked over to him. ‘Give me one more night, just one, and I’ll get both you and Colt out of the camp and away.’

     ‘I don’t think Colt wants to leave,’ Punk sighed, sadly.

     ‘I’m sure if you told him the truth about Prince, he would see sense. He’s been poisoned by the demon, just like the rest of them.’

     ‘How do I know you’re even telling me the truth?’ Punk shot a glare at Styles. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’

     ‘You need proof?’ Styles smirked. ‘Fine, try leaving the camp tonight and see just how far you get. I know for a fact, either Omega or the Young Bucks will stop you.’

     Punk only nodded silently in return. ‘I need some time,’ he said, finally.

     ‘You have tonight,’ Styles told him as he prepared to leave, holding a hand out to retrieve his handgun from Punk. ‘After that, our window of opportunity closes and there’s nothing else I can do for you both. Come find me in the morning. I hope you’ll make the right choice.’

     Punk watched, his mind sprinting a million miles a second as the Georgia native left his tent. He tried to process what he had just heard and even though it seemed far-fetched, a lot of it made complete sense. He couldn’t figure out whether he could trust Styles or not – he didn’t trust a single member of the Bullet Club – but he was offering something to Punk that Devitt was heavily denying; the chance to escape. The chance to leave the murderous gang behind and push on to Tampa. Not only that, but with Colt in tow too.

     He looked up, his eyebrows knitted together and purposefully walked out of his tent, taking a quick look either side he strode away from the door, winding his way between the many tents. He pulled his cap’s visor over his face, keeping his head down as he pushed past various members of the Bullet Club. He briefly looked up and could make out the edge of the camp, blissful darkness lingering just within reach. He walked on, the welcoming shadows getting closer and closer, opening its arms to welcome its long lost brother back into its fold. Punk was gaining ground, was almost there…

     A hand fell on his shoulder and gripped him tightly, pausing him in his tracks.

     ‘Evening,’ a familiar voice greeted him, and Punk spun around to face Kenny Omega. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach. ‘Where you off to, buddy?’

     ‘I’m not your buddy,’ Punk scoffed, slapping Omega’s hand off of his shoulder. ‘I just needed some fresh air.’

     ‘Sure,’ Omega shrugged. ‘Let’s go.’ He walked past Punk but waited a few feet away as he noticed the Chicago native was not joining him. ‘You coming?’

     ‘I can go for a fucking walk by myself,’ Punk snarled at the Canadian.

     ‘Wouldn’t risk it in these parts,’ Omega replied with a grin. ‘Come on, I’ll escort you. Nice night for a spot of exercise.’

     ‘You know what,’ Punk said, backing away. ‘I think I’m good.’ He turned around and marched straight back to his tent, zipping the door shut. He sat on the floor, removed his cap and started scratching his hand though his hair. First thing in the morning, he thought to himself, he would find Styles.

 

     Kenny Omega had watched Punk walk away from him, smirking as the Chicago native returned to his tent. As the heavily tattooed man retreated, the smile fell from his face and was replaced by one of deep thought. His eyes narrows and his lips pursed tightly together. He rubbed his gloved hand over his chin before striding through the camp. He had dealt with one rebel; time to face the other.

     Omega was a relatively new addition to the Bullet Club but had already gained a reputation. Originally, he had been with some acquaintances when the Club accosted them, seeking their toll for travelling through their territory. Omega had been so fascinated by the gang that he offered himself as part of their fee and Devitt, with a knowing grin on his face had agreed to these strange terms. Their leader’s gamble paid off as Omega proved to be a natural in combat, able to remain cool and calm in the heat of battle and talented with both his pistol and his fists. He rapidly rose up the ranks and had been appointed the role of junior officer only a month before Devitt’s disappearance – a reward for his bravery and servitude to the brotherhood. He was a man universally loved for his unique personality, laid back nature and astuteness that few could match.

     But it was his unwavering loyalty that made him stand apart. He not only cared for the Bullet Club, he believed in every facet of it - the values of brotherly respect, the skills of combat and above all, the complete and utter devotion to his leader. He followed every order issued by Prince Devitt with enthusiasm, even for the most banal tasks and looked up to him like an older brother, a mentor even.

   When the Irishman had gone missing and everybody had given up hope, Omega refused to believe their fearless commander was dead. He spearheaded search parties into the surrounding hills and forests looking for Devitt and even when the others had given up, he carried on despite not receiving the proper authority.

     When the Young Bucks came to him with information about a shady group of men seen near the camp, Omega jumped at the chance to check it out. They had followed the group as they wound their way through the dying woods, only losing sight of them for a period of ten minutes, during which time the shady group had jumped two men and made off with one of them. They had landed at the scene just as a third man had appeared to help his fallen friend and couldn’t believe their eyes when that man turned on to be Devitt himself. Omega had swelled with pride and admiration that his leader had come through a vicious assault with no permanent injuries and immediately took to his knee and offered his services to Devitt once more.

     But things in the camp did not return to normal, even after their leader’s return. There was a palpable tension in the air. While most were delighted to see Devitt alive and well, others appeared disgruntled, in extreme cases, furious. Omega was sharp enough to pick up on this tension and immediately became suspicious. The Bullet Club was often a keg of dynamite, unstable and liable to explode. It had been this way since they had started recruiting more members, some of who were violent, primal men who only cared about getting their fair share. Devitt constantly had a battle on his hands to keep these members well fed and well stocked with whatever they wanted (within reason) but it was like walking a tightrope over a ravine during a hurricane. Somewhere along the way, his footing may just slip.

     Finally, Omega arrived at his destination and called in to the occupant of the tent. He was permitted entry and he pulled back the door and stepped inside. He found AJ Styles on the ground, cleaning his handgun and instantly he began to regret his actions. A light rub down his thigh found his own pistol resting in its holster and he felt some of the tension leave him. He had to see this through.

     ‘Omega, what can I do you for?’ Styles asked lazily as he rubbed the worn metal with a rag.

     ‘I wanted to give you a chance to explain yourself,’ Omega said, his voice unwavering.

     Styles stopped in his actions and lifted his head to look at the younger man. ‘Huh, what you talking about?’

     ‘I saw you enter Punk’s tent earlier-‘

     ‘You saw me enter our guest’s tent to thank him for saving Prince’s life, it’s hardly a crime,’ Styles shot back with a grin.

     ‘I’ve been ordered to watch Punk and report back to Prince. Where he’s been, who he’s spoken to, even what he’s had for his din-dins, I see it all.’ He lowered his voice sternly. ‘I also have to know his own thoughts, what he has planned and who he may be conspiring with.’

     Finally, Styles twigged. ‘So you listened in to our conversation,’ he smirked at the junior officer. ‘The man wants to leave, I say let him. He’s a fly in our ointment – you saw for yourself how he gets under Prince’s skin. I’m trying to protect our leader here, especially with his mind being so fragile these days.’

     ‘Yes, yes, I’ve heard these rumours too,’ Omega interrupted. ‘Prince is losing his mind, the pressure’s getting to him, he’s gonna snap any day. The same guys told me, that on the day he went missing, he’d been the one to stab you in the stomach then he had taken off all his clothes and gone running through the woods naked, screaming like a loony tune, but you know what? It turned out to be bullcrap. In fact, I think the whole thing is bullcrap.’

     ‘You’re blind, Omega,’ Styles chided. ‘And what’s worse, you’re feeding an innocent man to that lunatic.’

     ‘Prince has ordered us to keep Punk and Colt here at all costs. A direct order which even you, as second, must follow.’

     ‘Oh, cut the ‘yes sir, no sir, how high, sir’ bullshit, Omega,’ Styles yelled. ‘It’s growing really old.’

     ‘You have disobeyed Prince’s orders and conspired with an outsider. It’s my duty to pass this information onto Prince. I only came here as a courtesy to allow you to explain your actions to him first.’

     ‘You can kiss my ass, Omega,’ Styles spat at the younger man. ‘I am your senior here and if I tell you to keep your trap shut, you will keep it damn well shut.’

     ‘Nobody outranks Prince in this camp and he is the man I follow,’ Omega responded. ‘I hope you make the right decision here, Styles.’ He turned to leave when he heard a cruel snap behind him. He turned slowly and raised his hands as the barrel of the handgun was aimed at his head.

     ‘Ohhh, Omega,’ Styles chuckled sinisterly. ‘You really make my skin crawl, you know that? I never really got you. The weird laugh, the phoney good guy schtick, the stupid hair, everything about you is just… odd. The boys keep telling me it’s part of your charm, that you’re ‘unique’ but me, I just think you’re just a freak.’

     ‘Overreacting a bit here, aren’t we, Styles?’ Omega said. ‘All I asked was that you confess to a minor disobedience. At worst, you’ll be demoted.’

     ‘Or I could just kill you, get rid of the body and nobody would even realise you were missing, Kenny.’

     ‘I gave you a chance,’ Omega growled at the Georgian. ‘I came here and-‘

     He froze as something caught his eye. He tilted his head to get a better view and all of a sudden, the extreme measure taken by the second suddenly made sense.

     ‘That’s Prince’s handgun,’ he muttered. ‘Why do you have it?’

     ‘He won’t be needing it much longer.’

     With lightning quick speed, Omega grabbed his pistol and before Styles could even react, he found himself staring down the barrel of Omega’s gun. The two stood frozen in a stand off, each man with their finger on the trigger, waiting to see who had the gall to fire first.

     ‘Put it down, Omega,’ Styles warned, although the sweat was gathering on his forehead. The junior officer stared back, his face as hard as granite, refusing to back down, even if it cost his life. ‘Put it down.’

     ‘There’s something going on in the camp,’ Omega snarled at Styles. ‘The boys are talking, they’re restless and some of them are even angry to see Prince alive. What are you planning? Tell me!’

     ‘Why bother? You won’t live to see it,’ Styles sneered and fired a shot.

     The bullet missed and Omega lunged forward, pistol-whipping Styles on the side of the head. The older man fell to the ground and Omega struck him again and again on the temple with the butt of his gun. When he felt the Georgia native was incapacitated, Omega stood up, breathing deeply.

     ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ Omega warned Styles. ‘I’m taking you to Prince and you can talk to him personally.’

     He bent over the older man in order to pick him up, not noticing the Beretta still clutched in the second’s hand. Another shot ran out and this time it found its target. The bullet ripped through Omega’s shoulder, shredding meat from the bone and he fell back through the canvas door and onto the cold, hard dirt outside. He suppressed a scream as pain tore through his body.

     _Not now_ , a voice yelled in his head, _get to your feet._

     Gasping for air and seething in agony, Omega found the strength to stand and clutching his seeping shoulder, he stumbled through the camp.

     _Must._

_Find._

_Prince…_

     Devitt was lost. He glanced around his surroundings but he did not recognise them. Gone were the twisted trees and shadows of the forest he had been in moments before, now, everything around him was dark red. A smell hung in the air, a smell he some how knew… something vaguely familiar…

     A shot rang out!

     Devitt snapped his head to look behind him and although he couldn’t see the culprit, he could hear their footsteps running towards him. He turned and bolted into the red mist, running blind into the fray. The crimson fog turned into partitions and he found himself running through a maze with high walls. He darted around the corners of the labyrinth, unable to make out if he was even heading in the right direction, all while the man’s thumping footsteps grew closer and closer behind him.

     He began to pant wildly, feeling his sweat dripping down his forehead and into his eyes. He hastily wiped the salt away and kept running. The fear for his life was too strong.

     Another shot sounded, almost right behind him this time. Instinctively, he ducked but did not hear the bullet whizz over his head.

     The footsteps were drawing closer now, and closer, but he could feel a breeze and knew the exit to the maze was near. He saw the end of the corridor rapidly approaching, heard the babble of his Bullet Club brothers growing louder and louder as he neared the way out. Just a few more steps and he would be safe.

     He turned the corner.

     A dead end!

   The footsteps caught up and stopped right behind him…

   Hands were gripping him, steely fingers entwined around his shoulders, shaking his roughly. A voice was growling in his ear – a fierce, menacing voice.

     He suddenly remembered what that smell was.

     The smell of blood!

     Devitt bolted up and with a ferocious roar plunged his knife into his assailant’s ribs. The man gasped and the grip on Devitt’s shoulders loosened.

     The red mist began to clear and reality set in as Devitt fully awoke from his dream only to wind up in another nightmare. He was in his tent, wrapped up in his sleeping bag, one trembling hand clutching a man in a leather jacket who was leaning over him. He finally looked into the intruder’s face and his expression turned to one of horror.

   ‘Kenny?’ he uttered in disbelief.

     The wild haired man only gasped in reply.

     Devitt felt warmth on his arm and looked down to see it streaming with red. His eyes widened on seeing his blood-soaked hand grasping his knife, which was planted in the Canadian’s side.

     ‘Oh _fuck!_ Kenny!’

     He let go of the knife and the younger man slumped forward. Devitt caught his limp body and clutched his shoulders, one pale hand holding onto one scarlet hand.

     ‘Oh Kenny, I’m so sorry,’ he stuttered, trying to focus his mind. ‘HELP!’ he yelled out, a primal, panicked shriek. ‘SOMEBODY HELP ME!’

     ‘Prince, I… I…’ Omega tried to rasp out.

     ‘No, don’t talk,’ Devitt tried to soothe the man. ‘Don’t talk, save your energy. I’ll get help-‘

     Omega grabbed Devitt around the back of the head and pulled him close. ‘No,’ he choked, ‘I… need to... tell you… S-s-sty-’

     ‘What’s going on?’ The voice cut through Omega’s words as a man burst into the tent. Devitt looked up with a frantic expression in his face.

     ‘Styles! Help me!’ he pleaded with his second-in-command who instantly dashed to his side.

     ‘What happened?’ he asked and he took hold of Omega and removed him from Devitt’s grasp.

     ‘It was an accident,’ Devitt stammered out. ‘I… I stabbed him and I don’t know what-‘

     ‘Go get Colt,’ Styles ordered. ‘He’s good with stitching, maybe he can help us.’

     ‘I didn’t mean to-‘

     ‘Now Fergal, before we lose him!’

     Devitt didn’t need to be told twice and ran from the tent. As soon as the Irishman left, the look of concern disappeared from the Georgia native’s face and it twisted into a malevolent smirk.

     ‘Oh, Kenny, you were so close to telling him,’ he cooed the injured man in his arms. All Omega could do was glare back as he tried to gasp in air. ‘You nearly undid all of my plans and saved your beloved Prince.’ He began to snigger as he watched Omega’s suffering.

     Styles’ features went cold as he placed two fingers over Omega’s nostrils, clenching them tightly. Omega naturally opened his mouth in order to breathe but panic laced his face as he felt Styles place his thumb under his chin and clamp his lips shut again. ‘You won’t live much longer, Kenny,’ Styles spoke softly to his victim. ‘You may still recover from your wounds but I just can’t risk that.’ Omega began to squirm against Styles’ grasp but the stronger man kept his hold firm. ‘But don’t worry, brother, your death will not be in vain. You will be a martyr for our cause, even if nobody else will know it. If only you could see it, brother, if only you could see the glorious dawn that’s about to break.’

     He looked down as Omega’s body began to grow limp and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. ‘Say hello to Wendy and the kids for me.’

 

     ‘COLT! WE NEED YOU NOW!’ Devitt burst into the Chicago native’s tent, waking both him and Punk with a start. Both men visibly gasped at the sight of the younger man. He was wild-eyed and frantic with blood smeared down his bare torso and arm.

     ‘What the fuck happened? Are you hurt?’ Colt bolted to attention.

     ‘I’m fine, it’s not my blood, it’s – fuck – I need you to help him.’

     ‘Alright, alright, I’m coming.’ Colt sprang to his feet and made to follow Devitt.

     ‘Bring your kit,’ Devitt demanded before running away. Colt scurried over to his pack and began hunting for his first aid kit when he noticed Punk getting up as well. ‘You coming too?’ he asked his companion.

     ‘That’s the first time I ever heard that kid curse,’ Punk said flatly. ‘It must be serious.’

     The two men leapt from their tent and seeing Devitt lingering a few feet away, they followed him through the camp. They rushed through the canvas door, both men feeling dread lingering in the pit of their stomachs. As they entered the tent, the room suddenly became silent as all three men stared down at the gruesome scene before them. Styles was kneeling on the blood-strewn floor with Omega sprawled in his arms, his face chalk white while his pale eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling.

     ‘He’s gone,’ Styles sighed. The impact was clear on Devitt’s face as his hands flung up to grip his hair. He pursed his lips tightly trying to contain a flood of emotion as tears gathered in his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t be too upset if I were you,’ Styles warned the younger man. ‘He’s not worth crying over.’ He flung something heavy at Devitt’s feet and the Irishman bent down to pick it up.

     ‘What is that?’ Colt asked, straining to catch a glimpse of the metal object.

     ‘My gun,’ Devitt explained. ‘It was stolen a couple of days ago.’

     ‘Looks like we found your traitor,’ Styles said with a heavy sigh.

     ‘There may be more,’ Devitt tensed up. ‘If they hear Omega’s dead, they may grow suspicious.’

     ‘I’ll dispose of the body quietly. No one will notice he’s gone, at least until we find out who he’s working with,’ Styles reassured his leader who seemed anything but relieved. The Irishman turned to the two former wrestlers.

     ‘This does not leave this tent,’ he ordered them both.

     ‘Of course not, you have my word,’ Colt immediately agreed. Punk remained quiet however, staring down at the man that he had spoken to a mere hour ago, now dead in a pool of his own blood.

     ‘Punk?’ Devitt asked, stirring the Straight Edge Saviour from his stupor.

     ‘Fine,’ he relented, not taking his eyes off Omega.

     ‘Looks like you were right after all, Punk,’ Devitt sighed sadly. ‘Guess you can say you told me so.’

     Punk didn’t reply. All of his senses were fixed on Omega while the same though ran through his head over and over. _That could have been me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Jarring mood switch*  
> You lovely people have given me 30 kudos - thank you all so much!!! Have a bonus [Finn-art](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Finn-Balor-post-beat-down-819400272)


	25. The Dawn Rises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Warning - some grisly scenes ahead! *

     Colt sat alone by a campfire, watching the brothers of the Bullet Club bustle around their evening routines; setting up tents, heading on patrol or enjoying their late night meals. He couldn’t quite fathom how none of them had noticed that a brother among them had vanished from the face of the Earth, how their leader had snuffed out his life in an instant or, more to the point, that he had been killed trying to assassinate their beloved Prince.

     He was stirred from his meditation by a figure approaching him from behind and taking a seat on the log beside him.

     ‘Hey Colt,’ Punk said softly as he rested his forearms on his knees and looked around the camp.

     ‘Hey Punkers,’ Colt said with a small smile. ‘You talking to me again?’

     ‘Guess so,’ his friend smiled back. ‘How you holding up, buddy?’

     ‘I think I’m still in shock over it all,’ Colt confessed, lowering his head.

     ‘Come on,’ said Punk standing up, ‘let’s go for a walk. More we move around, the less people will hear.’

     ‘Smart,’ Colt nodded, getting to his feet. ‘You’ve always been smart,’ he muttered under his breath.

     The pair walked slowly through the camp, past the many groups of men strewn here and there, busying themselves with their assorted orders. The spoke low and quiet and kept at a steady pace so few would be able to listen into their conversation.

   ‘I know Omega was your friend,’ Punk sighed. ‘I really am sorry.’

     ‘Who knows if he even was my friend,’ Colt said, wearily. ‘He might have been lying to me, same as he was to everybody else.’

     ‘I didn’t like the guy – I don’t like any of them – but I have to admit, he never came across as a lying piece of shit. Guess he had everybody fooled.’

     ‘Guess he did,’ Colt let out a long breath. You were right though. You were right all along. The hit did come from within the Bullet Club.’

     ‘I hate being right,’ Punk mumbled and Colt turned to face his companion.

     ‘Something up?’ Colt asked with a smirk. ‘I thought you would be rubbing this in his face?’

     ‘Why would I do that?’ Punk asked, actually stung by the comment. ‘I’m not that big of an asshole.’

     ‘I know that… I just thought, you know, after yesterday when he snapped and beat you down, it would have taught him a lesson or something.’

     _Teach him a lesson._

     There was that memory again, still faint but becoming clearer by the second. Why did it keep resurfacing? Did it mean something? Punk closed his eyes and tried to concentrate but once again the memory slipped through his fingers.

     ‘You ok, buddy?’ Colt asked, and Punk opened his eyes with a grunt.

     ‘Yeah, I’m good,’ he replied. ‘I just keep getting these weird flashbacks.’

     ‘Really? About what? Baron Corbin?’

     ‘No! No, I don’t think so. I can’t quite place it. Doesn’t matter anyway.’

     ‘You know, you’ve asked me how I’m holding up but I haven’t asked you. You doing ok?’

     ‘Yeah, why?’ Punk said back, almost defensively.

     ‘No reason… it’s just… it seems like forever since we spoke like this.’

     ‘Hard to believe it was only the two of us on the road together a week and a half ago. Feels like we’ve been stuck with the Bullet Club for months.’ He chuckled but there was bitterness in his voice.

     ‘Speaking of the Bullet Club,’ Colt said gingerly, ducking his head. Punk turned to look at his friend.

     ‘Yeah?’

     ‘I’m being presented my jacket tonight and formally inducted into the brotherhood,’ Colt finally forced out and he saw Punk’s shoulders tense up. ‘I know you’re not happy about this but… I’d really like you to be there to support me.’

     ‘You’re still going through with this?’ Punk asked, trying to remain calm.

     ‘It was never off the cards,’ Colt shrugged.

     ‘Not even after what happened last night?’

     ‘You heard Finn and Styles. They’re gonna find the rest of the culprits and things’ll go back to normal.’

     ‘That’s assuming it’s just an isolated incident, which it might not be – half the Club could be after Devitt’s blood. Anyway, that’s not what I was talking about.’

     ‘Then what were you talking about?’

     ‘The fact that Devitt killed Omega _before_ he even knew it was an assassination attempt. Doesn’t that bother you?’ Colt stopped in his tracks and lowered his head. Punk, seeing he was making headway, continued to hammer the point home. ‘What if things were different, what if it had been me in there?‘ Colt’s eyes widened, suddenly. ‘What if I was there just to speak to him about our confrontation? Would he have stabbed me too?

     ‘He would have known,’ Colt tried to argue.

     ‘He didn’t know last night!’ Punk shot back. ‘He just stabbed the guy and asked questions later. You saw him when he came barging into our tent; he was in a panic, thinking he had just killed one of his own men. You saw how upset he was and how he kept saying it was an accident.’

     ‘It _was_ an accident,’ Colt said after a long pause and continued walking again. Punk rolled his eyes with frustration and followed after him.

     ‘I don’t believe that for a second.’

     ‘You wouldn’t. You seem to think the guy’s the devil for some reason.’

     ‘He’s the closest thing I’ve seen.’

     ‘What? Worse than the Shield? Worse than Orton? Or Bischoff? Joe and Hank who fucking killed our friend in cold blood?’

     ‘If what I’ve heard about him is true, then he’s just as bad as all of them, if not worse.’

     Colt paused again and turned to Punk with malice in his eyes. ‘What have you heard?’

     ‘That the guy is mentally unstable. That he can be cruel to the point that he tortures enemies for hours just to humiliate them. That he was considering attacking Widows to keep his arsenal stocked.’

     ‘That’s all bullshit!’ He would never-‘

     ‘I’ve heard this from people who know him a damn sight better than you.’

     Colt stepped right into Punk’s personal space. ‘Who?’ he said, his lips curled up in a snarl.

     It was Punk’s turn to pause. ‘Someone from the Bullet Club.’

     ‘Who?’ Colt repeated, louder this time.

     ‘Why does it matter?’

     ‘Jesus, Punk,’ Colt let out a wry laugh. ‘Why? Because you may have spoken to one of _them._ One of the guys who want to kill Finn and they’re dragging his name through the dirt.’

     ‘He’s not,’ Punk stated.

     ‘And how would you know?’ Colt pointed a finger in Punk’s chest. ‘When did you have this little talk by the way? I’ve never seen you speak to anybody else, not even your best friend for the past few days. You’ve been sulking in your tent the whole goddamn time.’

     ‘I don’t lie, Colt! I thought you of all people would know that!’

     ‘I used to!’ Colt yelled and Punk was taken aback. Immediately, Colt took a deep breath and continued in a calmer voice. ‘I used to know you, dude. But since you’ve come back… I don’t know. You’ve kept things from me, carried around a fucking loaded gun-‘

     ‘Everything I’ve done was to protect us! _Both_ of us! I’m still the same guy. I’m still your buddy and you know you can trust me.’

     ‘Dude, I don’t know anymore,’ Colt sighed.

     ‘Colt…’

     ‘I just…’ Colt stopped suddenly on seeing where they had ended up. They had walked to the far edge of the camp, bordering a wood. They were hidden in the shadows of a large tent with nobody else around. Colt could make out through the gloom two packs hidden away under a tattered piece of tarpaulin. Their packs! ‘What is this?’ he turned to Punk.

     ‘The guy I spoke to,’ Punk said, ‘he promised to help get us out of here.’

     ‘I already told you I don’t want to leave.‘

     ‘Listen to me. He said that Devitt gave orders to keep us here,’ Punk interrupted. ‘That’s why Omega and the Young Bucks were constantly on our backs.’

     ‘Yeah, for protection,’ Colt argued. ‘To make sure the Shield don’t-‘

     ‘No, Colt! We’re being held prisoner. At least, until he’s reached his aim.’

     ‘Which is what exactly?’

     ‘He wants to break me.’

     ‘… break you?’ Colt said with raised eyebrows.

     ‘He sees me as a threat to his leadership and is trying to tear me down.’

     Colt let out a chuckle. ‘And you accused me of drinking the Kool-Aid.’

     ‘It’s the truth. The beat-down yesterday, the constant patronising, the whole Baron Corbin incident-‘

     ‘You think he organised it?’

     ‘It makes sense.’

     ‘No, it fucking doesn’t, Punk. If he organised it then why the hell would he go and save you?’

     Punk shook his head. ‘You just don’t get it.’

     ‘No I don’t get it,’ Colt agreed. ‘I don’t get how this has all become about you! Again!’

     ‘What? Colt, that’s not what this is!’

     ‘It really is, and that’s the problem Punk,’ Colt shouted his friend down. ‘I’ve been listening to you but _you_ haven’t listened to a single goddamn word I’ve said. I already told you how I felt about going back on the road. How I’m scared and exhausted and worn out. Jesus, I had a full scale panic attack where I tried to claw my own fucking throat out. I _can’t_ face being out there again! You get that? I can’t! I just… can’t.’

     ‘So you’d rather join a bunch of murderers who could kill you at any second.’

     ‘I’d rather face the dangers in here than any out there. Least I won’t be too scared to shut my eyes at night and I’ll get a good meal at the end of the day.’

     ‘I can’t believe how selfish you’re being.’

     ‘Me selfish?’ Colt asked, pointing his finger to his chest. ‘ _You’re_ the one who’s being selfish. You just want me to do what makes you happy. _My_ happiness can go to hell for all you care.’

     ‘You’re leaving me to go this alone,’ Punk yelled back. ‘You’re so worried about the Shield finding you but you don’t give two shits whether they find me.’

     ‘They wouldn’t even be a problem if you just stayed with the Club until we reach Florida but no, you have to be an awkward fuck and leave in the middle of the night.’ He motioned to the two packs. ‘You know, I’m starting to think you _want_ the Shield to find you.’

     ‘Now you’re just speaking crap.’

     ‘That’s right,’ Colt nodded his head. ‘Stupid Colt speaking crap again. We must all listen to Punk because he’s read a few books in his life.’

     ‘Why are you being like this?’

     ‘Because I’ve had enough of you and your shit. You want to go to Florida and be reunited with the girl of your dreams? Great! What then for me? Am I just gonna be your third wheel for eternity? Face it, I’m just here to get you to Tampa, after that, you don’t need me anymore.’

     ‘That’s not true!’

     ‘It is! You two will go running off into the sunset and live happily ever after. But me? I get left behind.’

     ‘ _I’m_ not the one leaving you behind here!’

     Colt had backed himself into a corner and he knew it. He swiftly changed the subject. ‘So, I take it that you’re not gonna be there tonight.’

     ‘We’ve got a small window. It’s now or never.’

     ‘Then I choose never,’ Colt sighed and before Punk had a chance to respond, Colt had pulled him into a gripping hug. ‘Take care out there, promise me, you’ll be careful.’

     ‘Please, come with me,’ Punk pleaded one last time.

     ‘Be safe,’ Colt sighed and pushed his friend away. He turned and started to walk away.

     ‘Colt, please,’ Punk said, trying to grab Colt’s arm but he yanked it away.

     ‘Goodbye,’ he whispered and, grabbing his pack, left Punk behind on his own. The Second City Saint watched as his friend disappeared from sight and lowered his gaze to the ground. He had given it his best shot and it had all blown up in his face. He became aware of a figure emerging from the woods behind him and turned to see the man Styles had sent to escort him safely from the camp.

     ‘You ready?’ he asked.

     ‘Yeah,’ Punk heaved a sigh and, shouldering his pack, made his way over to the man.

     ‘Your friend not coming?’

     Punk turned around one last time and could just make out Colt wandering away further into the camp.

     ‘No… he’s not.’

 

     It had been almost two hours since Colt had left Punk alone at the edge of the camp and he had not stopped thinking about him. Guilt was gnawing at the pit of his stomach as he imagined his friend out there alone. What if he had not packed enough supplies? What if he hurt himself and couldn’t stitch his wounds? What if the Shield found him and finished him off.

     ‘Hey, you still with us?’ Devitt nudged Colt with his elbow, stirring him from his thoughts.

     ‘Huh?’ Colt asked, returning to reality. ‘Uh, yeah, I’m here.’

     ‘Guess you couldn’t convince Punk to come,’ Devitt sighed. The majority of the Bullet Club was seated around a large campfire, similar to the night they welcomed their leader home. They were waiting for Styles to join them before they presented Colt with his jacket.

     ‘No,’ Colt replied, simply.

     ‘You ready for this?’ Devitt asked, sensing something was wrong with their newest member. ‘This is what you want, right?’

   ‘Yeah, yeah I still want this. I’m ready.’

     ‘I’m really glad you chose to join us,’ Devitt smiled and Colt smiled weakly back but as soon as the Irishman turned to speak to a fellow Bullet Club brother, Colt’s face fell again.

     ‘Where is Styles?’ Devitt sighed to himself.

     ‘I don’t know,’ Colt shrugged. ‘Maybe he-‘

     ‘BROTHERS’

     A voice cut through the air, silencing the entire party around the campfire. Colt turned around and made out the figure of AJ Styles slowly walking towards them with a smirk smeared across his face. He strode up to the head of the gathering and stood with intent to address the crowd. Colt noticed a sack held in his hand.

     ‘Styles?’ Devitt looked at his second with confusion but the Georgia native ignored him and started to speak.

     ‘I’m sorry for interrupting the induction of our new recruit tonight but sadly, I come with some bad news. We have a murderer in our midst.’ The reaction from the crowd was immediate as the entire camp began to rumble with shock. ‘Listen to me, my brothers. I am as horrified by this act of betrayal as the rest of you but rest assured I know who the culprit is and who he is working with and I ask that you help me in bringing justice to those responsible tonight.’ The rest of the men eagerly sounded their approval with a shrieking bray.

     ‘Styles, what are you doing?’ Devitt hissed to his second. ‘You said you would do this quietly-‘

     ‘Brothers, hear me!’ Styles continued, ignoring Devitt once more, which really riled the younger man up. ‘Last night, a gruesome event took place, during which one of our most beloved brothers was cruelly and needlessly killed. He was attacked from behind and stabbed brutally in the side. The knife was drawn over his stomach, spilling his guts across the floor. As our courageous brother tried to hold his insides in place and fight his assailant, he was shot, ripping his shoulder in two. He fell to the floor, lying in a pool of his own blood and innards while the cold-hearted killer wrapped his fingers around his throat and finished the job, watching the life leave our friend and companion without even a shred of remorse.’

     ‘That’s not how it happened,’ Colt muttered under his breath but his thoughts were cut off from the cries of anger reverberating around by the rest of the Club. The men were incensed by the tale they had just heard and were visibly growing angrier by the second. ‘Finn…’ Colt softly nudged the younger man, ‘what’s going on?’ Devitt did not reply. Colt could feel how tense his body was, almost as if he were made out of stone.

     ‘The saddest part of this terrible tale is that the murderer was a close friend of the victim. Someone he trusted, who had sworn to always protect him, to never harm or hurt him. He had gone to that man’s tent, which he believed to be a safe haven but instead he found there, his own untimely demise.’

     ‘Who is this bastard?’ a voice from the crowd yelled.

     ‘Tell us!’ Another jeered.

     ‘I only knew of the tragic events of last night as the killer himself asked me to help him in hiding the traces of his grisly crime. He came to me in the early hours of this morning and gave me this sack, asking me to burn it in the depths of the woods where nobody else would find it.’ Styles raised the sack high. Colt felt his heart claw up into his throat on seeing that the sack was dripping. ‘He wanted me to destroy the evidence and keep this from you all. But I could not allow that. As much as it pains me to tell you of a traitor lurking in our brotherhood, it pains me more to keep this from you. Gentlemen,’ Styles reached into the sack. ‘ _This_ is the proof you need of his crime.’

     The entire group was up on their feet, some wore faces of pale shock, others with weaker stomachs were emptying them of their supper but most of the group were scarlet with rage, baying for blood and swift justice.

     Colt sat frozen, staring at the bloody severed head of Kenny Omega, which Styles held aloft for the entire camp to see. Around him, the brothers of the Bullet Club were a swarm of noise and fury, demanding the name of the culprit from their second in command. He could hear some of them yelling out suggestions for punishments, each more gruesome than the last. Through the hurricane of wrath, Devitt remained as still as a rock.

     ‘You wish to know who did this, my brothers?’ Styles screamed over the cacophony and the crowd encouraged him on. ‘Will you help me in punishing them for their crimes?’ The crowd agreed once more. ‘The man you seek is the one sitting among you right now. Acting like your friend and companion. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Or, to put it a finer way… a demon amongst us.’

     He pointed a finger straight at Devitt and the entire crowd hushed.

     Devitt stared at his second, his ice blue eyes wide. Styles merely smirked back at him.

     ‘This is all bullshit!’

     Devitt was stirred from his shock by a voice lunging out behind him. He turned to find Colt on his feet, facing down Styles.

     ‘You’re questioning me?’ Styles shot back at him. ‘You’re not even one of us.’

     ‘I was there!’ Colt yelled and the crowd began to murmur in response once more. ‘I saw it all.’

     ‘You saw it all, huh?’ Styles sneered at the Chicago native. ‘So tell me, who killed Kenny Omega?’

     Colt paused. This was not going to end well. ‘… Finn,’ he sighed.

     ‘Finn? And who exactly is Finn?’ Styles asked, as his grin grew wider.

     ‘…Prince Devitt,’ he reluctantly replied and the furor started up again. ‘But it was in self-defence!’ he yelled out over the crowd, and they hushed slightly to listen to him. ‘Omega was the traitor. He tried to kill Finn in his sleep.’

     ‘I’ll forgive your ignorance seeing as you’re still new around here,’ Styles smiled patronisingly. ‘But everybody here can tell you that’s not true. Omega’s defining trait was that he was fiercely loyal to Prince. To suggest Omega to be a traitor is to suggest that fire is cold or the desert is wet.’

     ‘But it’s-‘

     ‘Not to mention that there is not a single scratch on Prince,’ Styles said, motioning to the younger man. ‘If he was acting in self-defence, surely there is evidence of a struggle on his part. A few bruises, a wound? But there is nothing. Just as if he attacked first.’

     Colt became tongue-tied. He couldn’t deny the fact that Devitt had been the first one to strike.

     ‘You were there, weren’t you?’ Styles goaded Colt. ‘Tell us who struck first.’

     ‘Finn…’ he uttered softly, then after seeing the same look from Styles, ‘… Prince.’

     The crowd were louder than ever on hearing this new information.

     ‘There is more, brothers,’ Styles called out. ‘If you need more evidence, I have it. After searching Omega’s body, I was able to retrieve the bullet from his shoulder.’ He raised the bullet high for all to see. ‘You all know I am the weapon’s expert here, and every gun in this camp comes from my arsenal. I can tell you for certain that this bullet comes from a Beretta 92F. There is only _one_ of those in the entire camp and it so happens to belong to…’ he pointed at Devitt again. ‘…Prince!’

     A rumble of thunder sounded from above the camp, adding a dramatic emphasis to Style’s reveal.

     ‘Finn,’ Colt hissed, grabbing the Irishman’s shoulder and trying to wake him from his stupor. ‘We have to get out of here.’ The man did not respond.

     ‘But the most damning evidence in my eyes, the final piece of the puzzle that told me that this was no accident or act of self-defence. The evidence that proved that this was an intentional act of callous murder, was the knife wound in Omega’s body. The way it buried into his side and carried over his stomach… it was like experiencing déjà vu…’ Styles lifted his shirt and exposed the winding scar still visible on his lower torso. ‘It was one and the same.’

     ‘Finn, goddamit, we have to go!’ Colt demanded, shaking him more forcefully.

     ‘I warned all of you of our leader’s declining mental health. I told you about his growing lust for blood and cruelty. Most of you scoffed when I told you he had turned on me in the woods that fateful day and driven a knife into me before taking off, running naked and screaming like some kind of savage. And, for a time, you all believed me.’

     Devitt’s arm shot out and gripped Colt’s jacket. Without taking his eyes off of Styles he whispered ‘when I give the signal, run! And don’t look back.’

     ‘But then he returned, the conquering hero. And you all embraced him. He brought with him two men and spun a tale of how he had been drugged and taken away by force, nearly beaten to death only to be saved by these same two men. And you all ate his lies like they were sweet cherry pie.’

     ‘You hear me, Colt?’ Devitt muttered.

     ‘Yes, I hear you,’ Colt replied, his heart beginning to pick up its pace.

     ‘But now look. You all ignored my warnings and a brother has paid the price for your ignorance. We allowed a demon to walk among us once more, bringing his two familiars with him. One, I see, is no longer with us. You all saw how Prince turned on him yesterday, perhaps he had had enough and took off, or maybe Prince disposed of him too. The other, well, the other stands here defending him.’ He turned to Colt. ‘He says he was there and saw it all… but none of you asked why. I can tell you why? Because they had planned this all along. They wanted to return and destroy us from the inside until nothing remained. Who killed Omega? The two men who stand before you; Prince Devitt and Colt!’

     As if one cue the rain came hurtling down onto the camp. The crowd were on their feet and rushing towards the two suspects. The air around them became loaded with the cries of the hunt. Colt felt a hand grab his arm.

     ‘RUN!’ Devitt screamed in his face.

 

     Punk walked on with his head down, his mind drowning in a bog of melancholy. He was not looking forward to facing the harsh road ahead on his own and wished more than anything that Colt would come running out of the trees any second and say he had changed his mind. Yet they had been walking for close to an hour and still there was no sign of his closest friend.

     He heaved a sigh and looked towards his guide, appointed to him by AJ Styles to get him past the Club’s sentries and back onto the open road. He was a few inches taller than Punk with hair tied in a small bun atop his crown and a wild untamed beard. He hadn’t shared his name.

     They had walked the entire time in silence, which suited Punk just fine. What did irk him though was that both men were battling to take up the rear in their small party. Clearly neither trusted the other enough to let them out of their sights. The two had been at this dance since leaving the camp and now Punk found himself with the man lingering behind him, just outside of his field of vision and it made the Chicago native very uneasy.

     ‘Hey, buddy,’ Punk said turning to face his guide. ‘You mind-‘

     He saw the gun a fraction of a second before it went off and threw himself to the floor. He heard the bullet whizz over his head and rip through the dying branches overhead. The man cursed and aimed the gun at Punk once more. Immediately Punk was on his feet but instead of running away like any sensible man would, he ran right at his assailant.

     The man, caught off guard by his prey’s reaction, misfired wildly, wasting another bullet as it sped into the night. Leaping like a tiger, Punk was upon his attacker and forced him to stumble backwards until he collided with a broad tree trunk. With one hand around the stranger’s throat, Punk grabbed the Club member’s wrist, smashing it against the unyielding wood until he released his grip on the gun. Seeing the weapon hit the floor, both men made a grab for it. Punk was the first to reach it and managed to wrap his fingers around the handle.

     ‘Let go,’ the man snarled as he gripped Punk’s hand, trying to prize the gun away from him. ‘Let go you piece of shit.’ The two men struggled, trying to overpower the other when a loud bang shredded the air followed by a blood-curdling cry.

     Punk watched as the man fell to the ground, clutching his foot, which was bleeding profusely from the fresh bullet wound. He stumbled back, trying to regain his breath as he clutched the cold steel in his hand. The Club member seethed in pain, fury creased across his face as he watched Punk remove the cartridge of bullets from the handgun and grip it in his fist.

     ‘NO!’ the man yelled out but it was too late as Punk threw the case away into the shadows with all of his strength. It shot through the air and out of sight. Punk glared coldly at the man as he dropped the now useless weapon on the ground. Walking towards the injured man, he slowly removed his lead pipe from his belt and held it loosely in his hand.

     ‘Listen here,’ Punk said, raising the pipe until it rested under the man’s chin. ‘I want some answers and I’m damn well gonna get them. Understand?’

     ‘Or else what?’ the man scoffed back. In response, Punk whacked him viciously around the head with the pipe.

     ‘Feel that? That was with my left arm,’ Punk warned coldly, ‘you don’t start talking, I’m gonna switch to my good arm. We clear?’

     The man was clearly irked by the threat but was trying his best not to show it.

     ‘Good,’ Punk sniffed. ‘Who sent you?’

     ‘Prince,’ the man smirked but this was closely followed by another smack around the head.

     ‘The truth this time, who send you?’

     ‘Styles,’ the man bit back.

     ‘Why?’ Punk growled, feeling his temperature rising. ‘Why does he want me dead?’

     ‘You shouldn’t be wasting your time on me,’ the man hissed at Punk.

     ‘Oh yeah? Why’s that?’ Punk leant in close.

     ‘You should be more worried about your friend,’ he replied and smirked cruelly. He now had Punk’s full attention.

     ‘What do you mean? What do you mean by that?’ he yelled, pressing the pipe into his face menacingly.

     ‘By the end of tonight, your fat friend will be dangling from the wrong end of a rope.’ He let out a sadistic chuckle and Punk saw red. He brought the lead pipe down on the man’s head and knocked him out cold before taking off through the woods back to the camp. He ran like the wind hoping against hope that he was not too late.


	26. Coup d'Etat

     The hunt was on!

     Having managed to evade the angry mob on their tail, Colt and Devitt found themselves in the forest surrounding the site and were clinging to the shadows, desperately trying to stay hidden and escape.

     The chase through the camp had been close as the two men tore off side by side, the lynch mob hot on their heels behind them. They’d skipped between the canvas tents and leapt over old campfires, hoping that their flighty footwork would help them streak away from their rumbling pursuers. Colt, not as nimble as his companion, tripped on a tent line and fell to the ground, only for Devitt to pull him quickly to his feet and the two ran on again. The small delay cost them dearly and the mob had made ground in catching up with them. They could hear the wave of noise behind them rising, reaching high like a tsunami, poised to wash over them and sweep them away.

     At last they finally saw the darkness marking the edge of the camp rapidly approaching.

     ‘Aim for the woods,’ Devitt cried over to Colt. ‘We can try to lose them in there.’

     The two men found what little strength they had left to push their bodies to their absolute limits and picked up the pace as best they could. The shadows grew larger as they got nearer. They could smell the damp earth and feel the wind picking up as the rain battered them from above. They broke through the dried carcass of the undergrowth and had gradually lost their hunters.

   Yet they were not out of danger. The mob had split up and was now combing the area for them. The whole forest was swarming with enemies and each way they went, they found their getaway blocked. Colt’s heart was thumping as every one of his muscles readied themselves for either fight or flight. He looked behind him to check in on Devitt who was still shell-shocked from the night’s events. The betrayal of his brothers had shattered his psyche and he struggled to pull himself together. Colt, for the time being, was in charge and their very lives were in his hands. He could almost feel the pressure of the entire situation pushing down on his shoulders. He wished more than anything that Punk was with them right now.

     The sound of footsteps made the two men duck down low to the ground, neither daring to breathe. Colt spotted two figures emerging from the shadows and before he could react, Devitt was on his feet and calling out to them.

     ‘Brothers!’ Devitt called out, jogging up to the men who turned out to be Luke Gallows and Karl Anderson. ‘I need your help.’

     The two bald men stopped and turned to face their former leader as he approached them.

     ‘Why are you out here, Prince?’ Anderson asked the younger man but then noticing how the younger man trembled slightly as he caught his breath, his face became more concerned. ‘What happened?’

     ‘Styles betrayed us,’ Devitt explained between gasps of air.

     ‘Styles? Gallows asked.

     ‘Yes, he’s turned the whole camp against us and now they’re out for my blood.’

     Colt remained hidden in the shadows. He couldn’t figure out why but he suddenly felt tense, like somebody was tying knots with his intestines.

     ‘They’re trying to kill you?’ Anderson asked and now Devitt was growing frustrated.

   ‘That’s what I said,’ he snapped. ‘We have to get out of here, before they find us.’

     ‘Finn...’ Colt tried to get the Irishman’s attention but his voice was barely a whisper.

     ‘What’s with this whole ‘we’ and ‘us’ business?’ Gallows laughed dryly.

     ‘He’ll come for anybody loyal to me,’ Devitt explained desperately, not seeing the impending danger.

     Gallows and Anderson looked at each other and exchanged a smirk.

     ‘Then we have nothing to worry about,’ Anderson growled.

     ‘Finn!’ Colt yelled.

     It was too late! As quick as a whip, Gallows had his hand around Devitt’s throat and lifted the smaller man high into the air. The Irishman looked down at his blood brother with his large blue eyes filled with hurt but all he received in return was a cold glare.

     ‘I’m sorry, brother,’ Gallows uttered without a hint of sympathy.

     The grip around his throat tightened and Devitt felt his windpipe crush. He began to gasp out for air, his face turning a deep shade of red. His fingers clawed at the larger man’s steely hands but did little to loosen their deathly grasp. He felt his world go blurry as the darkness began to settle in.

    

     Punk streamed through the forest, blood pounding in his ears as he sprinted feverishly back towards the Bullet Club camp. He mentally kicked himself for leaving Colt behind. He knew those men could not be trusted, yet he had allowed himself to be duped and put Colt in even greater danger as a result.

     He saw the lights of the campfire finally glowing in the distance and knew he was getting close. He pushed himself on when all of a sudden, two men appeared and blocked his path. Punk skidded to a halt and brandished his lead pipe.

     ‘GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!’ he yelled at the two men. He was beyond pissed off now and anybody who tried to stop him would feel his full wrath.

     ‘Woah, woah!’ one of the figures exclaimed, raising his hands. ‘Punk, it’s us.’

     ‘I KNOW WHO YOU FUCKING ARE!’ Punk roared at the men, who he could make out as Nick and Matt, the Young Bucks. ‘GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!’

     ‘Where have you been, Punk?’ Nick asked, coming closer with his hands still raised.

     ‘LAST CHANCE! GET THE FUCK OUT-‘

     A shot rang through the air and both men froze. They turned slowly towards Matt who had fired the shot in the air and was now pointing his gun at Punk. The Chicago native’s blood was boiling so furiously however, he didn’t even flinch.

     ‘I think you should calm down, Punk,’ Matt warned the former wrestler.

     ‘You too, huh?’ Punk uttered coldly at the older brother. ‘Your buddy didn’t do the job right, you gotta finish it off?’

   ‘Hand over your weapon,’ Matt hissed.

     ‘Come and fucking get it then.’

     ‘Woah, woah,’ Nick butted in, trying to calm the two men down. ‘Matt, put the gun down.’

     ‘Not until he puts his weapon down.’

     ‘Punk?’

     ‘I don’t have fucking time for this!’ Punk yelled with frustration.

     ‘PUNK?’ Nick said more forcefully.

     ‘Put down your weapon, dammit,’ Matt said, louder.

     ‘Matt, lower your damn gun!’

     ‘I’m wasting time here! Either fucking shoot me already or step aside and let me past,’ Punk spat, taking a step towards Matt.

     ‘Where are you going, Punk? What’s the rush?’ Matt asked, his gun still pointed at Punk’s head.

     ‘You wanna shoot me, then go ahead, fucking shoot me!’

     ‘Nobody’s shooting anybody. Matt, put the fucking gun away NOW!’

     ‘I can’t believe this! Colt could be dying right now while I’m stuck here playing fucking games with you two morons!’

     ‘Wait? What?’ Nick turned to Punk.

     ‘I’m warning you once last time…’ Matt started.

     ‘PUT! THE! FUCKING! GUN! DOWN!’ This time it was Nick who screamed the orders and seeing his brother so irate, Matt slowly lowered his weapon. ‘What happened?’ Nick turned to Punk.

     ‘Get out of my way!’ Punk hissed but Nick stood his ground.

     ‘Not until you tell us what’s going on?’ Nick insisted. ‘There’s been some weird stuff happening tonight. We were changed over to watch duty at the last minute, Omega’s gone missing... what’s going on?’

     ‘Who you loyal to?’ Punk asked suddenly and Nick stared blankly back at him.

     ‘Uh… what?’ the young man asked.

     ‘Who you loyal to?’ Punk asked again.

     ‘I don’t get the question,’ Nick admitted.

     ‘That tells me all I need to know,’ Punk nodded and the Young Bucks looked at each other with confusion. ‘Colt’s in danger and your boy, Devitt, might be too.’

     ‘What do you mean?’ Matt asked, giving his full attention as he finally holstered his pistol.

     ‘One of your ‘brothers’ just tried to put a bullet in my skull. Styles sent him,’ Punk explained quickly.

     ‘Wait, Styles sent someone to kill you. Why?’

     ‘I don’t know but I’m damn well going to find out.’

     ‘How do you even know it was Styles?’ Matt asked skeptically.

     ‘The guy told me and believe me, I was being very persuasive.’

     ‘And he told you they’re after Colt too?’ Nick asked.

     ‘Yes, which is why I need to get going before it’s too late,’ Punk said again, his voice growing louder.

     ‘You mentioned Prince might also be in danger. How do you know?’ Matt questioned.

     ‘I spoke with Styles last night. He doesn’t speak very highly of your leader,’ Punk told them. ‘The guy who tried to kill me also tried to pin the blame on Devitt. I don’t know what their end goal is but I’m guessing it spells trouble for your ‘Prince’.’

     ‘What did Styles say exactly?’ Nick asked as Punk let out a roar of pent up anger.

     ‘Look, I don’t have time for the third degree here, just-‘

     ‘Go, Punk,’ Matt said and Punk turned to eye him. ‘Go find Colt before something happens to him.’

     Punk didn’t say a work as he pushed past Nick and disappeared into the night leaving the two younger men behind. Nick looked towards his brother.

     ‘What do we do?’ he asked.

     ‘I have an idea,’ Matt replied.

 

     Gallows tightened his grip on Devitt’s windpipe as the former Bullet Club leader’s face slowly turned scarlet then purple. Anderson mocked the helpless Irishman as he struggled to fight back, feeling his life leaving him.

     A large streak barreled through the woods and collided with Gallow’s mid-drift, sending the bearded man flying backwards onto the ground. Devitt crashed to the floor and immediately began coughing, trying to grab as much air back into his lungs. He felt a large presence loom above him and opened his eyes to find Colt standing over him protectively with his fists raised.

    ‘You want him, you have to go through me first,’ Colt snarled at the two bald men.

     ‘Colt,’ croaked Devitt. ‘Don’t be daft, get out of here.’

     ‘Forget it,’ Colt said to him, but kept his eyes on Gallows and Anderson. ‘I’m tired of running away and leaving my friends behind. I don’t care if I die trying, I’m not abandoning anyone else again.’

     While Gallows tried to recuperate on the ground, Anderson made his move and swung a punch at Colt, who deftly dodged the blow and landed one of his own. His fist caught the side of Anderson’s head and although it visibly rocked him, he remained standing and went in for another hit. His blow found its target this time and smacked Colt so hard across his jaw it was a miracle it didn’t dislocate from its socket. Instead of winding the Chicago native however, it only made him angry.

   Colt ducked low and thrust his shoulder into Anderson’s stomach, forcing him back across the boggy ground. A shard of lightning tore the skies above him as the rain hammered down relentlessly and despite the slippery ground beneath him, he managed to shove Anderson back into a large tree trunk with a shuddering smack.

     Anderson raised his fist and brought it down twice on Colt’s ribs but the former wrestler ignored the pain. Letting out a roar, he grabbed the bald man’s face in his hand and bashed it against the tree behind him. Three blows later and he felt the smaller man’s body go limp as he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

     Colt barely had time to catch his breath when he was struck around the back of the head and fell face first into the slurping mud. A vicious boot collided with his already hurting ribs and he grit his teeth, determined not to show any pain to his enemy. Gallows’ boot thumped into his side without mercy as Colt tried in vain to get to his feet.

     He heard footsteps rapidly stamping towards them and the sound of an animal as it lashed out at its prey and finally the pain stopped. Colt hurriedly pulled himself to his feet and found Gallows embroiled in a fight. He rubbed the mud from his face and shook his head before looking towards the scene again, not believing the sight before him.

     He wasn’t seeing things!

     It was Punk!

     The Straight Edge Saviour had his powerful legs wrapped around Gallows’ torso and was pelting down brutal elbow shots onto the larger man’s head. Blood was already pouring down the bald man’s face as he tried to force the intruder off of him. Finally he managed to block Punk’s punches and went for a strike of his own but Punk quickly released his grip and jumped off, landing mere inches beside Colt. He turned to his best friend.

     ‘You ok?’ he asked, his face clearly full of concern.

     Colt felt a small smile climb up his cheek. ‘Yeah,’ he said, simply.

     ‘Let’s take this creep down,’ Punk smirked.

     The pair stood tall side-by-side, facing down their much larger opponent. Gallows glared back at them, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand then signaled for the duo to make the first move. Punk and Colt took a step forward when all of a sudden the ground began to shake.

     ‘Is that a fucking earthquake?’ Colt cried.

     A large, cumbersome object smashed its way through the undergrowth straight towards them. They immediately spun around and, grabbing Devitt, ran as fast as they could away from the oncoming behemoth. In the ensuing panic, they lost sight of both Gallows and Anderson.

     They ran as fast as their worn bodies would let them but it was no match for the indestructible beast as it easily matched their pace and soon was right next to them. With a screech it ground to a halt.

     ‘Punk! Colt!’ a voice cried out and the two men realised what the strange colossus was. Even in the dark they recognised the reinforced cart, which served as the Bullet Club’s arsenal store and sitting on the box, steering the two horses was none other than the Young Bucks.

     ‘Get on!’ Nick instructed them and all three men hopped aboard the cart and they hurtled through the dark forest away from danger.

 

     AJ Styles sat serenely, cross-legged on the soft ground littered with several rugs and admired his new quarters. Already he had disposed of most of Devitt’s belongings, keeping only the items he wanted for himself - one such item being the Beretta, which was snuggled into its holster around his chest. He sat and waited for news of his doomed rival and former friend, a smug grin plastered on his face as he anticipated the blood letting to come.

     However, that smile soon disappeared as search party after search party came back empty handed. He grimaced as Luke Gallows traipsed into the tent with a dazed Karl Anderson using him for support.

     ‘So?’ Styles asked through gritted teeth, taking a cue from the two men’s appearance and not liking the result.

     ‘He got away,’ Gallows sighed. He was expecting Styles to explode, to go on the rampage and trash the tent in a fit of rage but instead the older man sat on the ground, his chin resting on his cradled hands and nodded. A tense silence thickened around them. It made Gallows feel insanely uncomfortable.

     ‘What happened?’ Styles finally asked.

     ‘He wasn’t alone,’ Gallows explained.

     ‘Yeah I know that, he had that bumbling idiot with him.’

     ‘That guy was no idiot,’ Anderson piped up. ‘He beat my ass within minutes.’

     ‘Then maybe I underestimated you. Both of you.’

     ‘Hey, I had him, right, ’ Gallows stated, feeling anger rise up inside him at the insult. ‘I had him on the ground and would have finished him if his stupid, fucking friend hadn’t shown up-‘

     ‘What?’ Styles sat bolt upright and Gallows went silent. ‘Answer me.’

     ‘His… friend-‘

     ‘You mean Punk?’ Styles asked, his voice growing darker.

     ‘Uh, yeah, the one with all the tattoos?’

     A shadow crossed Styles’ features but only for a split second before it passed and he leaned back again, cradling his fingers once more.

     ‘Two things needed to be done to make this work,’ Styles said, his voice soft and sinister. ‘Eliminate Devitt and rally the boys to our side. That second part was meant to be the hard bit, the first was easy enough. Yet, somehow, it was simple enough to turn the camp against their leader and you numb-nuts can’t kill one, measly boy.’

     ‘Like we said, he wasn’t alone,’ Gallows chimed in.

     ‘I realise that, which is why I went to all the trouble to split those two assholes up. I convinced Punk to leave with Leroy, who was meant to take him out of the equation. Another disappointment.’

     ‘Those guys were tougher than we gave them credit for,’ Anderson pointed out.

     ‘I gave you all three men on a silver platter and you couldn’t do the one simple task of killing them,’ Styles said, his voice growing louder. ‘Fine,’ he said, his voice low again, ‘lesson learned. You wanna do something right, you gotta do it yourself.’ He stood up and marched to the door of the tent. ‘Go clean yourselves up and meet me at the weapons coach.’

     Gallows inhaled sharply through his teeth making Styles stop in his tracks and give him a stone-hard stare.

     ‘What now?’ he growled.

     ‘Uhh, there’s something else we need to tell you… it’s about your arsenal…’

 

     The Young Bucks had pushed the horses as far and as fast as they could manage but soon they were slowing down and needed to rest. The located an abandoned gas station several miles away from the camp and decided to stop to allow the animals to recuperate. Colt quickly scouted the derelict building and finding it completely empty, he signaled for the others to enter. Punk chose to stay and tie up the horses so Nick and Matt could help Devitt inside. The Irishman was still coughing and clutching his bruised throat but his steps were strong as he was escorted into a small room that must have been an office of some kind. He was sat on a rusted office chair and Colt handed out blankets to everyone to help dry themselves off before leaving the three Bullet Club members alone.

     ‘You ok, Prince?’ Matt asked, turning to his leader.

     ‘My brothers turned against me,’ Devitt replied in a quiet, raspy voice. ‘Even the men I drew blood with and called my family tried to kill me.’

     ‘We’re still here,’ Nick said, trying to raise his spirits.

     ‘I didn’t realise I was so loathed by everyone,’ Devitt sighed. ‘What did I do that was so wrong?’

     ‘Nothing,’ Matt said, holding Devitt’s shoulder tightly. ‘This is all on Styles, not you.’

     ‘And more are loyal to you than you think,’ Nick added.

     ‘Can I be left alone for a while?’ Devitt whispered and Matt sighed, his jaw tight.

     ‘Yeah, sure,’ he groaned. ‘We’ll be right outside if you need us.’

 

     Outside, the rain was still falling heavily so Punk found some empty plastic containers and allowed them to fill up with rainwater so that the horses could drink. He stood next to the exhausted beasts, running his hand down their strong, smooth necks. He felt their heat warm his hand and it reminded him how cold he was and he shivered violently.

     ‘It doesn’t look like the rain’s gonna let up.’ Punk lifted his head to see Colt standing opposite him. ‘Why don’t you come inside?’

     ‘I’ll be in once I’m done here,’ Punk replied.

     Colt looked at the two horses and saw they were satisfied enough. ‘Fine, I’ll stay here with you, keep you company,’ Colt smiled. ‘Come on,’ he nodded his head towards the roofed area where the gas pumps were located. ‘No point getting any wetter.’

     The two men walked under the leaky roof and sat on a dry patch of cement. Colt pulled a blanket from under his bomber jacket and offered it to Punk who accepted it gratefully and draped it over his shoulders. Colt pulled out one for himself and tried his best to warm his frozen body.

     ‘Thanks by the way,’ Colt said softly to his friend. ‘For coming back, I mean.’

     ‘I wasn’t gonna let them kill you,’ Punk said with determination in his voice.

     ‘Look, about what I said earlier, I’m sorry-‘ Colt started.

     ‘Nah, nah, don’t mention it, it’s fine-‘ Punk tried to wave it off.

     ‘No, it’s not fine,’ Colt shot back. ‘We’ve swept this under the rug enough. We need to hash this out properly.’

     Punk let out a long, tired sigh then nodded. ‘Ok,’ he said, finally. ‘Let’s hash it out.’

     ‘I didn’t mean what I said,’ Colt said. ‘Well, I did, but not really.’ Punk looked at him confused. ‘I’m not mad at you… but then I guess I am as well. Fuck, I don’t really know how to start.’

     ‘Look, we’ve been through some real shitty times and we can’t seem to catch a fucking break. I know that you’re scared and fed up and god knows I’m a fucking difficult guy to be around too-‘

     ‘No, that’s not it,’ Colt interrupted again. ‘I mean, yes I’m scared and, sure, you are a fucking difficult guy to be around,’ he smirked at Punk who smiled weakly back, ‘but truthfully, I don’t care about that stuff. I’d follow you to hell and back, no matter what.’

     ‘So… why did you want to stay with the Bullet Club?’ Punk asked tentatively. ‘Why did you decide to let me go it alone?’

     Colt stayed silent for a few moments, collecting his muddled thoughts. ‘We’ve all lost everything. Everybody we’ve met; they’ve lost their homes, their families, their lives. They’re nothing but ashes now. But… it’s not about how you got those ashes, it’s what you do with them that counts.’

     ‘I don’t understand,’ said Punk.

     ‘The Event affected us all but for some it gave them a purpose. Take you for instance.’

     ‘Me?’

     ‘You realised that you were in love with April. To think, CM Punk, Phil Brooks, the biggest man-whore I have ever met in my life, finally wants to settle down. Sure, you’ve gone steady with a couple of girls but your heart was never really in it. Would you have travelled across the country on foot for say, Beth?’

     ‘Hell no!’ exclaimed Punk.

     ‘Exactly. The Event made you realise what you truly wanted and you didn’t care that she was at the other end of the country, you were gonna find her and tell her how you felt. Like I said, a purpose.

     ‘But for me, it was the opposite. I had my life all worked out. Sure, I didn’t have a girl but I had my work and I loved it more than anything. I was gonna wrestle for as long as I could then worry about finding someone and starting a family or whatever. The Event left nothing for me. My savings, my house, my career, fuck, the entire wrestling industry here in the US was all just… gone. And I didn’t know what to do or where to go from there.

   ‘That’s why I was so invested in New Chicago. It gave me a purpose again but even back then, I knew it wouldn’t last. But where could I go? That’s when you appeared out of the blue and told me about your plans to go to Mexico. I didn’t even need to think twice. You had a goal, a chance for a new life and I just had to tag along for the ride, even more so when you told me about going to Tampa and finding April.’

     ‘So what changed?’ asked Punk.

     ‘I guess I got scared. We’re now so close to the end that I panicked a bit and thought that, once you found April, you wouldn’t need me around anymore. Our mission would be over and my life would go back to being worthless again. Somehow I thought that by joining the Bullet Club I would have that purpose again, that I wouldn’t have to face being alone. But I see now, I was being a coward and taking an easy way out. Not only that, but I was basically handing you over to the Shield and that was so fucking selfish of me. I truly am sorry.’

     ‘I’d already forgiven you Colt,’ Punk reassured his friend, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. ‘But I really appreciate you opening up to me. I know you must have been bottling this all up for some time.’

     ‘I wanted to stay strong, for you,’ Colt said, subtly wiping his eyes.

     ‘You’re incredibly strong,’ Punk agreed. ‘I would never have gotten this far without you. I won’t get much further without you either.’

     ‘You mean that?’ Colt asked.

     ‘You know me, I don’t lie,’ Punk smirked. ‘Colt, you’re not worthless. Just because I realised what I wanted doesn’t mean that you won’t. You’ll figure out what you want to do next and believe me, you deserve a lot better than a bunch of red neck hicks in the ‘Middle of Nowhere’, Georgia.’

     ‘I guess I could still wrestle in Europe… or Japan?’

     ‘There you go. What do I always say?’

     ‘Luck is for losers.’

     ‘No, not that one, the other one!’

     ‘I’m straight-edge which makes me better than you?’

     ‘PMA! Positive Mental Attitude!’

     ‘Oh. Well you can’t blame me, you say a whole bunch of stuff all the time!’

     ‘Yeah, I see that now,’ Punk smiled and laughed.

     ‘You’re right though. I do need to be more positive. Funny, that’s what Paige said my super-power or something was.’

     ‘So that girl wasn’t spouting some shit after all?’

     ‘I guess not.’

     ‘You know, the cash in my pack is meant for you too. It’s not just for Ape and me, we’re all gonna start a new life, away from this fucking nightmare.’

     ‘You call her Ape?’ Colt smiled warmly at his friend.

     ‘Yeah,’ Punk said as a grin spread across his face.

     ‘Cute,’ Colt laughed. ‘You know something, I always know when you’re thinking about her. You have this stupid goofy grin on your face.’ He turned to his companion. ‘But it always goes away again just as quickly.’ Sure enough Punk’s smile had dissolved and now he wore a weary expression. ‘She’s out there,’ Colt told him. ‘I can feel it in my gut. She’s alive and she’s looking for you too. We’re gonna find her, I promise.’

     ‘We will,’ Punk uttered, ‘we’ve got to think positively.’

     ‘Come here,’ Colt said and he pulled Punk into a strong hug that finally put all of their bad feelings to rest.

     ‘Oh good, you two have made up,’ Nick teased, walking over to the pair with Matt and the two friends awkwardly separated from their embrace. Punk was up on his feet like a shot and both of the Young Bucks instinctively took a step backwards.

     However, Punk extended his hand to them. ‘Thank you for getting us out of there,’ he said.

     ‘Uh, no problem,’ Nick said and shook his hand. Punk turned to Matt.

     ‘It’s cool,’ said Matt accepting his gesture. ‘I’m also sorry for pointing a gun at you.’

     ‘Heh, I’m used to it by now,’ Punk joked dryly.

     ‘Where’s Finn?’ asked Colt.

     ‘Inside,’ Matt indicated with his thumb. ‘He’s in a pretty bad way.’

     ‘I can get my kit and look him over,’ offered Colt.

     ‘I don’t mean physically, I mean mentally,’ Matt clarified. ‘I think the entire Club turning against him hit him hard.’

     ‘You should have seen his face when Gallows grabbed him,’ Colt said sadly. ‘I think that’s devastated him the most. I should go talk to him.’

     ‘He wants to be left alone,’ Nick said, stopping Colt in his tracks. ‘Let’s just give him a few minutes.’

     ‘In the meantime, we can try and piece this whole mess together,’ Punk suggested.

     ‘Good thinking, let’s start with what happened tonight. Colt?’  

     All three men turned to Colt who recounted the night’s events. He had just reached the point where Styles had pulled Omega’s head from the sack when both of the Young Bucks interrupted.

     ‘He what?’ Nick spluttered. ‘Kenny’s dead?’

     ‘Oh yeah,’ Colt said, scratching the back of his neck. ‘I forgot that nobody else knew. I’m really sorry.’

     ‘What happened?’ asked Matt.

     ‘He tried to kill Devitt in his sleep,’ Punk explained.

     ‘Not possible,’ Matt said.

     ‘It’s true,’ sighed Colt. ‘He snuck into Finn’s tent and Finn stabbed him in self defense.’

     ‘I refuse to believe that,’ argued Matt. ‘He was the most loyal to Prince. If he was here now he would have lead the charge against Styles.’

     ‘I couldn’t believe it at first but-‘

     ‘Hold on Colt,’ Punk interrupted. ‘Think back to last night; who told us that Omega tried to assassinate Devitt?’

     ‘Um…. it was all so chaotic, I can’t-‘

     ‘It was Styles,’ Punk pointed out. ‘And who was Omega left alone with before he died?’

     ‘Fuck, Styles!’ Colt said as the realisation hit him.

     ‘Wait, you’re speaking in riddles,’ Nick butted in.

     ‘Devitt admitted to stabbing Omega by accident. He’d been asleep and didn’t even know who he’d stabbed at first. He came to our tent and begged for Colt to help him. By the time we got there, he was already dead. He had been left alone with Styles.’

     ‘So you’re saying Styles killed him?’

     ‘The knife was buried in his side,’ Colt said, thinking back to the previous night’s events. ‘It was bad, but it may not have been fatal. I once saw a Widow get stabbed in a similar place and she was up and walking around shortly afterwards.’

     ‘But why would he kill Omega?’ Nick asked.

     ‘You said it yourself Omega was loyal to Devitt. Perhaps he saw him as a risk?’

     ‘But so are Matt and me. So are you, Colt. Why would he kill Kenny but leave us alive?’

     ‘The question we should be asking,’ Punk started, his fingers wrapped around his bearded chin. ‘If Omega wasn’t trying to kill Devitt, what was he doing in his tent that night?’

     ‘Finn’s not been sleeping well,’ Colt pointed out. ‘I caught him sleeping in our tent one night and he admitted himself he had been having nightmares. Maybe he was yelling in his sleep and Omega was checking on him?’

     ‘Maybe he was reporting in something from his watch?’ Matt offered.

     Punk clicked his fingers at Matt. ‘Ok, and what was he watching that night, or rather who was he watching?’

     Matt looked slightly sheepish and ran a hand over his long hair. ‘Well, we were ordered to watch… you.’

     ‘Exactly,’ Punk said as the pieces began to come together for him. ‘Devitt ordered Omega and the two of you to watch us, right?’

     ‘He did?’ Colt asked. ‘You were?’

     ‘Right,’ Matt answered Punk. ‘Nick and I were keeping an eye on Colt that night.’

     ‘Jesus,’ muttered Colt. ‘So all those times I thought we were just hanging out, you had actually been ordered to-‘

     ‘Focus, Colt,’ scolded Punk. ‘So that means Omega was watching me. What do you think he would have seen that he needed to report to Devitt?’ He was met with blank stares. ‘I can tell you,’ Punk said with a glint in his eye. ‘He would have seen Styles leave my tent.’

     ‘WHAT?’ Matt and Nick hollered at the same time.

     ‘What was Styles doing in our tent?’ Colt demanded.

     ‘He offered to help me leave the camp,’ Punk told them.

     ‘So that’s how you got past us tonight,’ Nick said. ‘We wondered how you managed to get so far without us spotting you. So he saw Styles leave your tent and reported it to Devitt?’

     ‘He would have confronted Styles first,’ noted Matt. ‘Ever since Prince went missing, Kenny’s been suspicious of Styles, even going as far as accusing him of murdering Prince that day. Perhaps he stumbled across Styles’ plans-?’

     ‘And Styles killed him before he told Prince,’ finished Nick.

     ‘Now things are starting to make sense,’ Punk nodded. ‘One thing I can’t quite figure out is why Styles wanted me dead.’

     ‘HUH?’ It was Colt’s time to splutter. ‘He what?’

     ‘His so-called guide tried to put a bullet in me,’ Punk explained to Colt.

    ‘Dude! Fuck, I’m so sorry. I let you go alone with him!’

     ‘It was all Styles’ doing,’ Punk said to him. ‘Anyway, if his plan had gone the way he wanted, we would both have gone and we’d both be dead.’

     ‘He wanted you out of the way,’ Matt said. ‘He wanted everyone who posed a threat out of the way. Nick and I were put on watch last minute and from the sounds of it we weren’t the only ones.’

     ‘Get rid of everybody who may be loyal to Devitt and you leave a clear path to him,’ summarised Punk, who turned to Colt and smirked. ‘If you had left with me tonight, not only would we be dead, but so would Devitt.’

     ‘So my bad decision ended up being the best decision?’ asked Colt.

     ‘Irony, man,’ Nick laughed.

     ‘I find it hard to believe you actually listened to Styles in the first place,’ Matt shot at Punk. ‘Let alone that you trusted him.’

     ‘I was still reeling from the stunt Baron Corbin pulled a few days back and with Colt’s decision to join the Bullet Club. I was paranoid and angry and Styles used that to his advantage.’

     ‘He’s a slippery character,’ Matt agreed. ‘There’s been rumours spreading about Prince for months now, stupid stuff like he’s losing his mind or going crazy. Kenny believed it was Styles spreading these rumours to undermine Prince.’

     ‘Funny, he told me the same things,’ Punk admitted. ‘And like an idiot, I believed him.’

     ‘We get it,’ Nick told him. ‘Even we began to have doubts when we saw Prince attack you yesterday.’

     ‘Oh that wasn’t on Finn,’ Colt said, rolling his eyes. ‘That’s just the effect Punk can have on people sometimes.’

     ‘It’s a gift,’ Punk smirked.

     ‘What did Styles tell you exactly?’

     ‘He told me Devitt wanted to attack passing Widows for their guns and bullets.’

     ‘Well now that’s just bullshit,’ Matt shook his head in frustration. ‘Styles has been the one pushing that agenda since the beginning. Prince has shot him down every time.’

     ‘I see,’ Punk sighed. ‘I didn’t know.’

     ‘Of course you didn’t,’ Colt spoke up, ‘you haven’t exactly given the guy a chance to tell his side of the story.’

     A silence hung in the air and Punk felt all three men looking at him expectantly.

     ‘You’re right,’ he said simply and began to walk away.

     ‘Hey, where you going?’ asked Nick.

     ‘No time like the present.’

 

     Punk walked inside the crumbling gas station and found Devitt in the small office exactly how the Young Bucks had left him. He was slouched in his chair covered in a blanket with a lost, vacant expression on his face. Punk knocked on the wall to alert Devitt of his presence.

     ‘I thought I told you to leave me alone,’ Devitt sighed.

     ‘Yeah, well you tell me a lot of things and I’ve never listened yet,’ Punk said and Devitt lifted his head on hearing his voice.

     ‘What d’ye want, Punk?’ he asked, clearly not in the mood for a confrontation.

     ‘There’s been a lot of tension between the two of us,’ Punk said, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed, ‘and neither of us have had the balls to just go talk to one another. I’m thinking now’s as good a time as any.’

     ‘What do you want me to say?’ Devitt asked. Punk had never seen him so defeated before. ‘I already admitted you were right when Omega tried to kill me. You want me to say it again?’

   ‘Omega wasn’t trying to kill you,’ Punk said and this caught Devitt’s attention. ‘You didn’t kill him either. He was trying to warn you about Styles’ plans so he silenced him.’

     Devitt looked straight at Punk, his ice blue eyes glassy. ‘How do you know this?’

     ‘He saw Styles leave my tent earlier in the night,’ Punk explained and seeing the querying look on Devitt’s face added, ‘Styles watched us fighting that day and saw an opportunity. He told me some interesting things.’

     ‘Like what?’

    ‘Like how you had ordered your men to watch Colt and I, and keep us in the camp at any cost.’ Punk kept his glare trained on Devitt and watched as the younger man bowed his head in shame. ‘That’s true, isn’t it?’

     ‘Yes,’ Devitt whispered back.

     ‘Why were you holding us prisoner?’ Punk asked sternly.

     ‘I wasn’t holding you prisoner,’ Devitt admitted, ‘I just couldn’t let you leave.’

     ‘Why?’ Punk asked again, more forcibly this time.

     ‘Because I knew the hit was an inside job,’ Devitt shot back. ‘I didn’t want to believe it and denied it anyway but deep down, I knew it had to be organised by someone in the Club.’ He paused and Punk kept his eyes trained on him, waiting for him to continue. ‘It could have been anybody and as soon as I got back, I felt like I was surrounded by enemies. I got scared. The only people I knew who wouldn’t be out to kill me were you and Colt. You were my only allies and I needed you around.’

     ‘Why not just tell us instead of conspiring behind our backs?’

   ‘If I had gone to you and asked you to your face, would you have stayed?’ Devitt asked, confrontationally.

     ‘No,’ Punk said without a waiver in his voice.

     ‘Exactly,’ Devitt said. ‘Colt would have wanted to but in the end he’s loyal to you and would have followed you. I couldn’t allow either of you to leave, which is why I offered to escort you to the border. I ordered Omega and the Young Bucks to keep an eye on you as I thought they were the men least likely to betray me.’

     ‘Your instincts were right,’ Punk noted. ‘If Omega was alive today, he would be fighting by your side.’

     The side of Devitt’s mouth rose ever so slightly in a weak smile. At least that thought brought him some comfort, Punk reasoned.

     ‘Matt and Nick told me that rumours had been circulating about you for some time,’ he told Devitt.

     ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I’d cottoned on to them but didn’t know the details. Rumours about me losing my mind and becoming some kind of sadist.’

     ‘That’s about right,’ Punk confirmed. ‘Styles told me that you wanted to attack Widows for their guns and ammunition.’ Immediately Devitt protested but Punk raised his hand to silence him. ‘I know now that’s not true.’

     ‘It always was Styles’ arsenal,’ Devitt explained, bitterly. ‘Even when we joined together to form the Bullet Club, it was always _his_ creation, his baby. When the bullets started to run out, he was the one who campaigned to replenish them by any means necessary.’

     ‘And you disagreed with his idea of attacking Widows?’

    ‘Yes!’ Devitt said passionately. ‘I’m not a good man but I am not heartless. We may take a cut from anyone who travels through our territory but we never harm any of them, we have even escorted some safely across our lands. I would never tolerate the spilling of innocent blood while I was in charge, never!’

     ‘Which is why Styles couldn’t afford to have you in charge any more,’ Punk noted and Devitt went silent once more. ‘You’re right, though, you’re not a good man.’ Punk waited for a reaction but received nothing. ‘I’ve watched you kill more than once and your reputation is infamous. They say there is no smoke without fire.’

     ‘Yes, I’ve killed,’ Devitt spat back. ‘I’ve killed more men than I can count. I’ve killed Vipers, I’ve killed Bone-Shakers, Acolytes, New Age Outlaws, Headbangers, Radicalz. I’ve killed members of the Nexus, the Kliq, the Ascension and the Legion. I’ve killed tall men, short men, skinny men and stocky men. I’ve killed men from the East coast and the West coast and even from different countries around the world, each one vastly different from the next.

     ‘But you know something they all had in common? They were all murderers themselves. You know how I know? Because they all came to kill me and my men. That’s the problem with being strong. Strength brings challenge and gangs would travel from miles around to challenge us. And they were not interested in mercy or compassion; they wanted to wipe us out leaving us with only two choices. Kill, or be killed.

     ‘So don’t you sit there on your high horse and look down at me just because I have taken another man’s life. You have only been in this game for a few weeks. I have been playing for well over a year and I’ve discovered that the rules will only serve to get you killed. You, of all people, know this-‘

     ‘I do,’ Punk interrupted and Devitt halted in his speech. He watched in silence as Punk removed his leather jacket followed by his sodden hoodie. He pulled his shirt up over his head revealing his brightly coloured chest and turned around, giving Devitt a clear view of his back, or to be more precise, his left shoulder.

     ‘Your mark,’ Devitt uttered. ‘The man you killed was Orton?’

     Punk said nothing as he turned back to face the younger man. Although the two men would never see eye to eye fully on the subject, an understanding emerged between the two, one that didn’t need to be spoken out loud. They shared a shaky bond, an experience that nobody else did and through that experience they understood what it was like to choose their own lives over someone else’s.

     ‘Styles told me a story about you torturing a rival gang leader for hours. Is that true?’ Punk asked, after a while.

     Devitt paused. ‘In a way, it’s true,’ he admitted, ‘only the torturer was Baron Corbin. And it wasn’t a rival gang leader… it was a young woman. A Widow.’

     Punk’s eyebrows knitted together in disgust and he gritted his teeth. ‘That’s why you banished him?’ he asked and Devitt nodded. ‘You should have fucking killed him.’

     ‘That was my first decision,’ Devitt told him, ‘it was Styles that pleaded for his life.’

     ‘Styles?’

     ‘From the day we met Corbin, Styles took him under his wing and saw him as some kind of prodigy. I never really understood it myself. Corbin was a snide and smug and he rubbed the rest of the boys up the wrong way. He would often get into scuffles or even attack his fellow brothers.

     ‘He had no loyalty to me either. He always ignored my orders, instead looking to Styles for instruction. He had been getting under my skin for some time and when I found out about the assault, I was sickened. I sentenced him to death and was going to kill him myself but Styles interjected. Out of respect for my second,’ Devitt snorted wryly, ‘I banished him and promised if he ever returned, I would kill him without hesitation.’

     ‘Which you did,’ Punk pointed out.

     ‘I’m a man of my word aren’t I?’ Devitt replied.

     ‘This is all making sense now,’ Punk said and Devitt raised his head to look at him.

     ‘What is?’

   ‘Since my run-in with Corbin, I’ve been having these flashbacks. They’ve been vague but I remembered a voice. It was only later this evening after I left the camp with Styles’ stooge that I realised the voice belonged to Axel.’ He faced Devitt who looked utterly confused. ‘He was one of Corbin’s men,’ Punk informed him. ‘He was there when the gang held me prisoner. I didn’t realise it at the time but we had met before, only a few days ago… when we stumbled across you in the woods.’

     ‘He was one of my assassins,’ Devitt finished for him. ‘The one that got away.’

     ‘When Styles came to speak to me, he fed me some bullshit about you organising Corbin to capture and torture me. It didn’t make much sense at the time but I was angry and paranoid and wasn’t thinking clearly. But after I remembered Axel, I realised it was all a lie. After what you just told me, it’s clear to me now. Styles got the message out to Corbin about his coup, invited them back to Club lands and ordered them to kidnap and kill you.’

     ‘I get it now,’ Devitt said. ‘Styles would have ordered them to beat him too so he could return to camp and tell the boys how I had snapped and attacked him before taking off naked into the woods. Oh yeah, I heard that rumour too! He must have stabbed himself to make it look even more believable.’

     ‘Only we put a spanner in the works,’ Punk concluded. ‘You lived, one of your kidnappers died and the other ran back to Corbin. Axel would have recognised Colt and I from North Carolina and when he told Corbin, he saw his opportunity to get some pride back.’

     ‘By doing so, he only signed his own death warrant as well as those of his men,’ Devitt sighed.

     ‘And you wiped out a large chunk of Styles’ army,’ Punk pointed out. ‘Had Corbin and his men lived, tonight could have ended a lot worse.’

     Devitt snorted again. ‘What, worse than having my men turn against me and run me out of my own gang?’

     ‘You’re alive aren’t you?’

     ‘For now,’ Devitt smirked. ‘But they’ll be out there hunting me down. Why delay the inevitable?’

     ‘For starters, you have three men out there who risked everything to save you. You really want to shit all over what they’ve done for you?’

     ‘They backed the wrong horse,’ Devitt spat back.

     ‘They backed _you!_ Because you’re their leader and they’re loyal to you. Hell, Colt’s only known you for a week and he’s willing to put his life on the line for you.’

     ‘I’m nobody’s leader!’ Devitt yelled. ‘Styles is leader now.’

     ‘Who the fuck are you?’ Punk asked, disgusted and Devitt looked away. ‘Where is that cocky little shit I met back in the forest a week ago? The one who had been beaten half to death but still managed to get under my skin?’

     ‘That was back when I was a Prince,’ Devitt spat. ‘I’m nothing now. Without the Bullet Club, I have nothing.’

     ‘You have Nick and Matt outside.’

     ‘I never asked them to follow me.’

     ‘Yes, you did! And they agreed. Same with Colt.’

     ‘What about you? You never did.’

     ‘No and I never will. But you know something, at least I respected you back then. I got no time for this whining pile of chicken shit in front of me now.’

     ‘Then leave.’

     ‘No!’

     ‘Why! What do you want me to say? Huh? What do you want me to do?’

     ‘I want you to fix it. You started the Bullet Club, you’re the one who brought Styles into the fold and now he’s forced his way to the top, you have to bring him down.’ Devitt bowed his head. ‘This is your land, your territory. You’ve fought for it, you’ve bled for it and you’ve killed for it. Now that Styles is in charge, you’re just going to roll over and let him take it from you? To rip your code into pieces and attack innocent people?’ Devitt kept his head down and remained silent. ‘You kept your word to the Widows that they would be safe in Bullet Club lands. You really want to go back on that promise?’

     ‘No,’ Devitt whispered.

     ‘So then… what are you gonna do about it?’

     Devitt sat with his head down, wrapped in his blanket looking like some statue of a Greek philosopher deep in thought. Slowly, he began to stand up, the fabric tumbling down his shoulders to the floor. He stood tall, his feet wide apart and his fingers curled. _The talons are out_ ,’ Punk mused to himself. Devitt raised his head enough to lock eyes with Punk and the Chicago native was pleased to see fire burning behind the ice.

     ‘What am I going to do?’ Devitt asked, his voice dark and dangerous, ‘I’m going to kill Styles.’ The demon was back again and for once, Punk was happy to see him.

     The moment was interrupted by the sound of rushing footsteps and a second later Nick came bursting into the office. He could tell he had interrupted a moment between the two men and felt a wave of awkwardness.

     ‘Uh, sorry to barge in on you like this,’ he apologised, ‘but they’re really anxious to see you.’

     ‘Who is?’ Devitt asked to which Nick only replied with a smile.

 

     Devitt followed Nick outside with Punk close behind him and gasped at the scene before him. Instead of the two men he expected to see, there were over a dozen milling around the abandoned gas station, all brothers of the Bullet Club. As he came out into the open, all the men stopped what they were doing and looked over to him, smiles on their faces and relief in their hearts. Devitt, however, felt tense and Nick could sense it.

     ‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured his leader. ‘They’re all on your side. Most of them were assigned watch duty tonight as Styles believed they were loyal to you.’

     ‘How many?’ Devitt asked with a stutter, feeling his emotion get the better of him.

     ‘We count fifteen,’ Nick replied. ‘They’ve been coming in all night.’

     ‘I can’t believe this,’ Devitt said.

     ‘Well, at least that evens the odds a bit,’ Punk smirked.

     Devitt walked out among his men, greeting them all in turn and hearing their version of the night’s events. Most were close friends, men he had handpicked to join the Club, while others pleasantly surprised him. Men he thought would be most loyal to Styles, had actually turned their back on him to follow Devitt instead. As he spoke to each man in turn, he found his confidence returning and he understood now what Punk was telling him earlier. It was his blindness and naivety that let to Styles taking over. This was his error, now he had a responsibility to correct his mistakes.

     Almost as if on cue, he noticed a man come running out of the woodland near by straight towards him. As he came closer he recognised Matt, who had been out patrolling the surrounding area.

     ‘What did you see?’ Devitt asked.

     ‘Styles and the others,’ Matt replied. ‘They’re coming this way.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! That's the exposition over with, now let's wrap this arc up!


	27. Coup de Grace

     Matt stared at his leader, waiting for an answer.

     ‘Did you hear me Prince?’ he asked. ‘Styles and the others are coming. We have to leave.’

     ‘Anyone who wants to go, can go,’ was all Devitt replied.

     ‘What about you?’ Matt muttered.

     Devitt fixed him with a determined stare that made his heart turn cold. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

     ‘He’ll kill you,’ Matt said.

     ‘Not before I kill him,’ Devitt vowed and Matt nodded.

     ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘then I will fight by your side.’

     ‘As will I,’ Nick said. ‘Although you probably already knew that,’ he joked.

     ‘I will stay and fight,’ another man shouted out.

     ‘So will I,’ said another and so on until every man there made the same promise to Devitt. All, bar two.

     Devitt looked towards Colt. ‘Do you even need to ask?’ Colt smiled back.

     Finally, he looked towards Punk, who was leaning against a gas pump, his fingers entwined together as he rolled his wrists. ‘You kidding?’ he said. ‘I’ve been wanting to punch these assholes in the face all week.’

     Devitt grinned, feeling his strength return to him. He had his true brothers behind him now and nothing was going to stop him.

     ‘They’ll be here soon,’ he yelled out to the crowd. ‘We don’t have much time.’

 

     AJ Styles, flanked by Gallows and Anderson lead the rest of the Bullet Club through the dark woods with murder on his mind. All of his frustration and hatred towards Devitt had been building up for over a year now and finally he was to feel satisfaction. He felt a rush of lust as he thought of the pain he would inflict on his former brother. He would kill him slowly, he decided, wear him down, watch him writhe in agony, make him bleed and beg for mercy. There would be no quick death, no sweet release, only torment.

     His cruel thoughts were interrupted by one of his sentries who came scampering towards him. ‘Sir,’ the sentry said. ‘We’ve found Devitt.’

     ‘Lead the way,’ Styles ordered and with a quickened step, they followed the sentry to the abandoned gas station. He was surprised to find Devitt already waiting for them. He was alone, sitting on the kerb, leaning against one of the pumps with his arms rested nonchalantly on his knees. He watched the large group of men approach without a hint of fear. There was an eerie silence lingering in the air.

     ‘I thought you’d be half way to the border by now,’ Styles said to the younger man, who stared back silently. On closer inspection, he could see that Devitt had pulled his bandana up around his lower face. Styles smirked at Devitt’s ploy to unnerve him. ‘That would have been the smart thing to do. But then, you never really were that smart.’ Devitt stayed silent and stared daggers back at Styles. ‘Let’s cut to the chase shall we, Ferg? Your men took something that belongs to me and I want it back. You will tell me where it is and in return, I will allow you a quick death.’ He stopped as he heard Devitt snort in derision. ‘You find my offer funny?’ Silence again from the younger man. ‘I would be more respectful if I were you,’ he warned the Irishman in a threatening tone. ‘I’m the new face that runs this place and if I want to see you suffer I just have to click my fingers and it will-‘

     He halted and stepped back as Devitt reached up and grabbed the sides of the gas pump, lifting himself to his feet with his chest puffed out and his head back, graceful as a crane. Styles cackled again. ‘You think you scare me?’ he said, threateningly. ‘You are a kid, a stupid, arrogant kid. Let me guess, you sent the Young Bucks and your idiot Chicago buddies on ahead while you stayed behind to, what, kill me?‘ He let out a laugh that was echoed amongst his brothers. ‘I don’t know if you can see through that shit on your face but you’re only one guy against an army of thirty. You really think you have a chance?’

     Quick as a flash, Devitt struck out, rushing forward and kicking Styles in the chest with both feet. Styles fell back against the hard ground and seeing their leader struck, his men made a dash for Devitt. The younger man was already on his feet and seeing the oncoming danger he yelled out ‘NOW!’

     Like shadows emerging from the mist, several figures appeared on the gas station roof just above Devitt’s head, each with a fully loaded weapon in their hands. A hail of bullets tore through the air and Devitt watched as a handful of men around him fell to the ground. Before Styles’ men had a chance to react, he gave the second order and the rest of his loyal brothers came flooding out of their hiding places and swarmed the invading army.

     The plan had been to act quickly and catch their enemy by surprise. It had worked and none of Styles’ men were sharp enough to draw their own weapons, forcing them to fight with only fist and foot. Around him, chaos reigned as both sides fought, a tangled mass of leather and denim, blood spurting from busted noses and baying cries of war. He searched carefully through the mayhem until his eyes landed on his target. Styles was already on his feet, looking no worse for wear. He smirked over at Devitt and removed his jacket and shirt revealing the faux scar across his stomach. Devitt replied with the same gesture, showcasing his many fading bruises. The two men knew this was a fight to the death and only one of them would come through the other side. The stakes were high but they would have it no other way. They ran towards each other.

 

     Meanwhile, Punk was doing his part in the melee, bringing down their foes and making sure they stayed down. Compared to their last battle with the Vipers, there were fewer enemies, but with more men fighting on their side, it often became disordered and confusing. While Punk was busy grappling with an opponent, he narrowly dodged a right hook from one of his own men.

     ‘Hey, jerkweed, I’m on your side,’ he shouted at the man who looked apologetic before he was tackled by one of Styles’ men and disappeared among the crowd. Punk eventually got a good kick in and heard something snap in his foe’s ankle. As the man fell to the ground, wailing in pain, Punk aimed a strong swipe at his head and he went still. He managed a moment to catch his breath and noticed he had lost sight of Colt.

    

     At the other side of the battlefield, Colt was fighting for his own skin. Karl Anderson had made a bee-line for him as soon as the fight was underway and the two had been locked in a brutal exchange of blows. While both men were still standing and had traded some hard hits, Colt had visibly come off worse from the exchange. His nose had been viciously broken, the cartilage having ripped through the skin on the bridge and he was struggling to breath, feeling as if he was drowning in his own blood. In return, however, one of Anderson’s eyes had swollen completely shut and both men were panting heavily, sweat dripping down their cheeks.

     ‘You’re even tougher than I thought, I’ll grant you that,’ Anderson said to Colt.

     ‘You’re average at best,’ Colt shot back and received another blow to the temple in return. The strike rocked him but he stayed on his feet and kept his fists raised.

     ‘Funny man,’ Anderson taunted. ‘Where did you learn to fight?’

     ‘Steel’s Dominion,’ Colt replied proudly.

     ‘Never heard of it.’

     ‘I can tell,’ Colt shot back and let loose with a flurry of nasty shots to Anderson’s mid-drift, finishing with a crunching thump on Anderson’s jaw. A crack sounded and Anderson’s hand shot up to his chin, which was now hanging at a weird angle.

     ‘Whoops, I dislocated your jaw, huh?’ Colt smirked. ‘Thank god for that, your constant talking was driving me crazy.’

     He raised his arm high and thrust his deadly elbow into Anderson’s already busted face. The man fell to the floor and lay sprawled out on the ground, defeated. Colt backed himself against one of the gas pumps and tried to catch his breath. The fight had taken a lot out of him and truth be told, he was amazed he had won.

     From out of nowhere, large hands grabbed him around the chest and yanked him off his feet. He struggled against the strong arms as they held him in an excruciating bear hug, feeling the wind leaving his already oxygen-starved body.

     ‘Come on Karl, I’ve got him now,’ Gallows yelled down at his fallen friend. ‘Get over here and finish him off.’ Anderson, however, was too worn out to move. ‘Come on, man! Get up! GAHH-’

     Colt heard Gallows’ cry and felt his arms loosen around him. He stumbled out of the larger man’s grasp and into another pair of strong, albeit much more wiry arms. He smiled on seeing tattoos inscribed across the familiar fingers.

     ‘Thought I’d run in for the save,’ Punk grinned down at his friend. Colt reached up and slapped his friend across the arm.

     ‘Tag! Your turn,’ he said and once Punk had set him down carefully he ran into the fold. Gallows was rubbing the side of his leg where Punk’s kick had collided moments before and only regained his feet when he saw Punk barreling down on him. The Straight Edge Saviour leapt high in the air and brought his stiff arm down on Gallows’ chest, flooring the much larger man. Punk wasted little time and as the big man swiftly got to his feet again, Punk held his hands together and rammed them into Gallows’ stomach. Something clicked in his body and feeling a natural rhythm he instinctively went in for a swinging neck breaker.

     However, this wasn’t wrestling and his opponent wasn’t working with him. Instead Gallows kept his neck taut and with incredible strength resisted Punk’s attack, straightening up and lifting the shorter man off of his feet momentarily. Punk looked on with confusion for a few minutes until Gallows fist collided with his mid-drift and snapped him back to reality. He went flying and landed on the ground inches from Colt, who shook his head at him.

     ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Colt scolded his friend. ‘This isn’t fucking Ring of Honour!’

     ‘Yeah, I know that!’ Punk shot back. ‘It was muscle memory, I just-‘

     Their conversation was interrupted as Gallows grabbed Punk’s foot and dragged him across the floor, away from his partner. Punk turned on his back and started kicking his assailant’s hand to try and loosen his grip but it held firm. Letting out a roar, Gallows flung Punk as if he was a ragdoll and he hurtled towards the decayed gas station.

     ‘PUNK!’ Colt shouted out as he watched his friend smash into the brick wall, which buckled under the blow, and he fell to the floor in a shower of bricks and dust. He heard a wet gurgle beside him and turned to see Anderson on the floor a few feet away, laughing at him. ‘He’s not done yet,’ Colt hissed at Anderson before turning back to the fight. ‘YOU’RE NOT DONE YET, PUNK!’

     Gallows cackled. ‘He’s finished.’ He walked over to the dust cloud where Punk was lying still on the cement floor and bent down to pick the prone man up and finish the job. The Chicago native, however, had different ideas, and clutching a loose brick in his fist, he turned and smashed it over Gallow’s head. The block burst into dust and sent the larger man reeling, clutching his head as fresh blood began to pour in streams down his face.

     ‘Let’s even these odds, shall we?’ Punk muttered to himself and removed his lead pipe from his belt. He ran towards Gallows, his weapon raised high but just as he was to bring it down on the larger man, Gallows’ hand shot out and gripped Punk’s arm. The other wrapped itself around Punk’s throat.

     From out of nowhere, Colt appeared and rammed his boot into the back of Gallows’ knee. The man fell onto his injured knee and his hands released Punk, who took his chance and aimed a vicious kick at his other knee. The large man buckled completely. The two Chicagoans exchanged a knowing look and grinned.

     Gallows looked up to see the two men standing side by side in front of him, slowly backing away. He looked on with confusion, which instantly turned to horror as he watched them both run straight for him, jump up in the air and land two perfectly timed drop kicks right in his chest. He fell back, smacking his head against the unforgiving cement and was knocked out cold.

     ‘Awwww,’ Colt moaned out annoyed, as he kicked Gallows in the side. ‘That’s it? We were only getting started.’ He turned to check on his friend who was breathing heavily. ‘You ok?’

   ‘Yeah,’ he panted. ‘That was-‘

     ‘Awesome!’ Colt exclaimed. ‘Just like the old days, huh buddy?’ He landed a friendly smack on Punk’s back and although Punk tried to suppress it, a cry broke out between his gritted teeth. ‘You’re hurt!’ Colt said and pulled the back of Punk’s shirt up to check his injury.

     ‘I’m fine,’ Punk insisted. ‘Just a little banged up.’

     ‘I’ll say,’ Colt said, examining his back, ‘you’re black and blue.’

     ‘I was just thrown into a brick wall,’ Punk pointed out. ‘It could have gotten a lot worse if I hadn’t spread my arms and taken it like a bump. Bruises fade though. I’ll be fine. Anyway, you should be more worried about your nose.’

     ‘How bad is it?’

     ‘Well you just asked me ‘Dow bad dis it’ so… pretty fucking bad.’

     ‘Is it as bad as yours?’

     ‘Fuck you.’

     By this time, they had walked back towards the main bulk of the fighting to find that the battle appeared finished. Broken, bleeding bodies scattered the ground, most of whom were still awake and nursing their wounds.

     ‘What’s going on?’ Colt asked and heard that familiar gurgle next to him. He looked down to see Anderson who raised his hand and pointed away into the near distance. They finally found what everybody else had stopped to watch. Two men still out on the battlefield, embroiled in combat. The night’s main event; Prince Devitt verses AJ Styles.

     Punk had never seen anything like it. The last time he had seen Devitt fight was when he had rescued him from Baron Corbin’s gang. Back then, he had likened it to a dance, only Corbin had been the last-minute understudy, who hadn’t learnt the moves. Styles, however, was a fellow leading man, well versed and fluent, who had been practicing his lines day and night. They played off each other with such grace and finesse that it was dazzling to behold.

     Devitt had always impressed Punk but he was blown away by Styles, who, for a man in his late thirties, possessed the kind of agility that Punk could only dream about when he was in his twenties. He looked to have springs attached to his shoes and hollowed out bones, giving him the ability to fly.

     Yet beneath the beauty, there was an unmistakably brutality and it showed on the bodies and faces on both men, who were caked in splatters of blood, some their own, some belonging to their opponent. Styles was favouring his right leg, suggesting his left had been injured in the bout and was spitting out blood, a gap showing where one of his bottom incisors had once been. Devitt, on the other hand had a nasty cut above his eyelid and a host of new bruises added to his collection. Both were breathing heavily yet neither was close to exhaustion yet.

     Styles ran in and aimed a right hook at Devitt, who dodged masterfully before trying to surprise his foe with an overhead kick. Styles used his forearms to block the blow then went to slam his fists into Devitt while he was on the ground on his back. In one smooth movement, the Irishman rolled away from the attack and was back on his feet.

     ‘Fuck me, Finn is so fast,’ Colt muttered under his breath.

     ‘Yeah he is,’ Punk agreed, ‘but so is Styles.’

     Styles rushed towards Devitt, aiming several rapid swipes, which Devitt managed to dodge, although only just. Styles pulled his fist back for another blow and Devitt, seeing what was coming, darted to the right. The blow turned out to be a feint to pull the former Bullet Club leader in and Styles’ full lower leg found its mark right across Devitt’s gut. As the Irishman keeled over from the hit, Styles thumped him in the back with both fists and the younger man fell to the ground. Styles was on the fallen man like a shot, grabbed his arm and pulled him around to force him onto his back. As Devitt’s body swung around, so did his arm, his fist striking Styles in the cheek, knocking him down. Devitt retreated away across the cement floor until his back rested against the wall of the gas station. By this time, Styles had regained his feet and both men glared at each other. The entire battlefield watched as both men halted to catch their breath.

     ‘I… gave you… a choice,’ Styles growled at Devitt between his heavy panting. ‘If you had just told me where my FUCKING GUNS ARE, I would have given you a quick, painless death.’ Devitt merely looked back, his eyes cold and dark. ‘Will you fucking SAY SOMETHING!’

     ‘You’re… not fit… to lead… the Bullet Club,’ Devitt replied. Incensed at the insult, Styles reached for his holster and produced the Beretta 92F that only days before had belonged to Devitt and pointed it right at the younger man. ‘You know, I actually did love you,’ Styles confided. ‘Before it all went downhill, I loved you like I would my own flesh and blood. My brother.’

     Devitt pursed his lips and spat at Styles’ feet, his saliva dyed a shade of rich red. ‘Your sentiment is as deep as that wound on your stomach.’

     Styles glared down at Devitt, his expression murderous. Suddenly he let out a laugh and threw his head back, chuckling menacingly. The crowd watched as his grip tightened on the trigger, the barrel aimed at Devitt’s forehead. The sinister laughter dwindled as he looked back down at his former brother and placed his other hand on the gun to steady his aim and make it count.

     ‘Do it!’ Devitt hissed at Styles. ‘Stop stalling and just pull the trigger.’

     ‘I wanted to savour this moment,’ Styles smirked, ‘but since you insist.’

     He pulled the trigger.

     The entire camp felt their heart leap into their throats.

     Devitt never winced once and now was staring back at Styles, his chest heaving and a grin on his face. Styles, however stood like a mannequin, confused as to what went wrong and looking down at the gun, which had not gone off.

     ‘Look at that, it jammed,’ Devitt grinned smugly.

     ‘How? I’ve never seen that happen before, I-‘ Styles yelled out, furious.

     ‘I told you that you weren’t fit to run the Bullet Club. Even the bullets reject you. Mine on the other hand.’ He used the wall as support to help him to his feet and leaned back against it. Raising both of his arms, he pointed his fingers like guns at Styles.

     The Georgian was not ready to be finished off just yet and rushed towards Devitt who had already started to sprint towards his foe. A final run-in; winner takes all!

     Devitt struck first and landed a devastating sling-blade. Styles smacked hard against the ground and the wind knocked out of him completely. He lay on his back, coughing up blood and wincing in pain as Devitt stood tall and looked down at him.

     ‘It’s done,’ Devitt said. ‘It’s finished.’

     ‘Like hell it’s finished,’ Styles growled and revealed the handgun still clenched in his fist. He forced the jammed bullet out and Devitt, seeing the oncoming danger, took a quick step back then ran towards his foe. He jumped high in the air bringing his knees to his chest just as Styles loaded the next bullet and pulled the trigger. A loud _bang_ sounded and the crowd gasped as they watched the bullet find its target and a wave of blood splattered from Devitt’s head.

     But it was too late!

     Devitt had already set his body in motion and Styles could only watch on helplessly as two heavy boots hurtled towards his face. A sickening crunch made every man’s stomach churn and they watched Styles’ body go limp. Devitt fell onto his knees and crumpled to the ground.

     ‘FINN!’ Colt screamed. He ran towards his friend. The Young Bucks were also hot in pursuit as the rest of the Bullet Club stood and watched, paralysed by the sight they had just beheld. Colt was first to reach Devitt and threw himself onto his knees to examine the body.

     ‘Is he-?’ Matt asked frantically.

     ‘Breathing!’ Colt informed them and to all three men’s amazement, Devitt turned around to face them. To their relief, the bullet had only nicked his cheek and temple. He looked a mess, swimming in his own blood, but he was alive and well.

     ‘It’s over,’ Devitt muttered and Colt and the Young Bucks smiled and nodded. They helped Devitt to his feet but once he had regained his composure, he gently pushed them away from him. He was the victor and he had to show it. He had won the battle with his strength and resilience and more than just a little spot of good luck. He stood tall and proud. A symbol to all of the men present, loyal or otherwise.

     ‘Styles is dead!’ Devitt announced. ‘And this rebellion is over.’

     The battlefield was silent. Even those who had rooted for Devitt sat quietly, not sure how to proceed.

     Punk, glancing around him and seeing the uncertainly, decided to intervene. He silently walked over to Devitt and offered to shake his hand. Devitt looked at it suspiciously before accepting the gesture. As soon as Punk took hold of the younger man’s hand, he raised it in the air in victory, flaunting the winner to the crowd. Those that were loyal to Devitt took their cue and cheered and hollered for their leader. The noise became deafening and Devitt happily took the accolade. He tried to keep his face serious, to keep the gravity of the moment but hearing his adoring brothers cheer him on, brought a smile to his swollen lips.

 

     The battle was over and the clean up had begun. Devitt had insisted that his first point of call was to judge each man who had betrayed him. He even refused treatment until he had spoken to every brother’s plea and decided their fate. Most men had fallen for the rumours and had gotten caught up in the frenzy back at the camp. They begged for forgiveness and promised to pledge their loyalty to Devitt once more. On the whole, the reappointed Bullet Club leader was merciful and welcomed them back into the fold, yet they would have to work hard to regain his trust once more.

     His heart sank, however, when his former blood brothers, Gallows and Anderson were brought before him, both battered and beaten.

     ‘Fergie, we-‘ Gallows started.

     ‘Save it,’ Devitt spat and the large man went silent once more. ‘This pains me more than any other betrayal today. You saved my life before and we have been through thick and thin every since. We three stood together and shared our blood as brothers. I thought we would always have each other’s backs… but I guess I was wrong. You two were only out for yourselves. I only want to know one thing. Why? Why side with Styles?’

     ‘He promised us guns and women,’ Gallows confided with guilt in his voice.

     ‘So you chose your dicks over your own brother?’ Devitt asked, anger and heartbreak evident in his tone, and both men nodded sadly. ‘I thought our bond meant more than that.’

     ‘We never meant to take it this far,’ Gallows said.

    ‘Oh I think you did!’ Devitt hissed, his fingers rubbing the bruises on his throat that Gallows had given him earlier. ‘The fact that you are lying right to my face now tells me I can never forgive nor trust either of you ever again.’ The two men went silent as Devitt pulled his Beretta, now safely back with its original owner, from its holster. He pulled out the magazine and inspected the bullets. ‘Three left,’ he said coldly. ‘One for you Anderson and two for you Gallows – just in case the first one doesn’t do it.’ He watched as both men cowered before him. There was no more time for talking. No more time for pleading their case. They had lost their appeal and would have to take their punishment.

     Devitt fondled the Beretta for a few moments before pointing it straight at Anderson, who’s eyes widened in horror. He began to mutter something but it came out in slurred mumbles from his dislocated jaw. Devitt froze for a few moments before turning the gun on Gallows who’s breathing suddenly stilted. After what seemed like an eternity, Devitt sighed and pocketed his gun again.

     ‘A life for a life,’ he said. ‘You saved me from the Vipers and in return, I’ll spare yours. But we are now even, our ledger has been wiped clean. You are hereby banished from Bullet Club lands on the penalty of instant death if you return. I’ll have some of my men escort you to the nearest border.’ The two men heaved a huge sigh of relief and went to thank Devitt but he turned to them, his eyes frozen over. ‘If I ever see either of you again, I will aim to kill… and I will not miss.’

     After those final words, Gallows and Anderson were taken away and the judging was officially over. Devitt sighed and rubbed his aching head. He stood up and happened to catch the eye of Punk who had been watching the entire proceedings from a short distance away. He nodded respectfully to Devitt who nodded back and, grabbing his leather jacket, went over to speak to the Chicago native.

   ‘You’re back to your old, ugly self,’ Punk teased, pointing to the Irishman’s bruised and bleeding face.

     ‘Don’t get used to it, it’ll heal up soon enough,’ Devitt joked back.

     Punk let out a chuckle then shook his head. ‘For fucks sake man, put on a goddamn shirt before _I_ try and kill ya!’ Devitt laughed out loud and obliged by putting his leather jacket on. ‘So, how you feeling?’

     ‘Sore…’ Devitt admitted. ‘And drained.’

     ‘Yeah, it’s been a wild night. Is every night like this in the Bullet Club?’

     ‘You’d be surprised,’ Devitt shook his head wryly and Punk couldn’t tell if he were joking or not.

     ‘You did it though, you beat him.’

     ‘I killed him,’ Devitt said sadly.

     ‘He had a gun,’ Punk pointed out. ‘It was either you or him. I know I’ve given you a hard time about this before but this time it was different.’

     ‘You’re right, it was different this time,’ Devitt nodded tiredly. ‘You know why? After the celebration, I sneaked behind the building and I threw my guts up. I’ve never done that before.’

     ‘It’s been a long night,’ Punk said, trying to comfort the man. ‘It was probably just all the adrenaline and nerves catching up-‘

     ‘Or all the guilt!’ Devitt said, locking eyes with the Chicago native. ‘It was… it was the first time I’ve killed a brother. I know that he betrayed me and all that but he was still my brother. And it still hurt, so much.’

     ‘Hey man, it’s not your-‘

     ‘I’m done with this Punk,’ Devitt said strongly. ‘I’m sick of having all this blood on my hands.’ He grasped Punk’s left shoulder and fixed his icy glare on him. ‘I vow by our marks that I will never kill again.’

     Punk exhaled through his nose and pursed his lips. ‘Don’t do that,’ he warned Devitt.

     ‘What?’ Devitt asked confused.

     ‘Make promises that you can’t keep,’ Punk sighed. ‘It’s not the old world anymore. We can try our best to be the good guys but something will be thrown our way to fuck that up. Until I came back, I’d never been in more than a scuffle. Now, more than once, I have fought for my life and because of that, I have blood on my hands too.’

     ‘Who knows, maybe you’ll be driven to have your first drink after all of this,’ Devitt joked and Punk snorted a laugh.

     ‘This new world can try but it’ll never take Straight Edge away from me,’ he said with conviction.

     ‘Is that a promise you can keep?’ Devitt asked.

     ‘Yes,’ Punk didn’t even hesitate.

     ‘Then here’s one I can keep,’ Devitt replied and placed his hand on Punk’s shoulder again. ‘I swear by our marks that I will take another man’s life only when it is absolutely necessary ie; to protect myself or my friends.’

     ‘Jeez, this is a vow, not a fucking contract,’ Punk said rolling his eyes.

     ‘Then what should I say?’

     ‘Just say ‘I won’t kill unless I absolutely have to’!’

     ‘Want me to start over?’ Devitt said reaching for Punk’s shoulder again.

     ‘No!’ Punk slapped his hand away again and Devitt grinned. ‘It looks like the rain will start up again any second. Wanna head back inside with the rest of the guys?’

     ‘In a minute,’ Devitt said. ‘Can I ask you something first?’

     ‘Sure, shoot.’

     ‘Earlier, when you showed me your mark,’ Devitt started. ‘It looks… different from mine…’

     Punk nibbled his lip ring and scratched the side of his nose. ‘Yeah…’ he started. ‘Remember when we first met and you kept going on about these stupid fucking marks?’

     ‘Yeah, you got pretty crabby each time.’

     ‘What’s new,’ Punk joked but his face went serious again. ‘You said that your mark gave you strength and that’s awesome. Whatever it takes to keep you going in this crazy world is fine by me. But my mark… it showed me just how weak I can be.’ Devitt furrowed his eyebrows in confusion so Punk explained. ‘The wound I got from Orton became infected and I got sick. _Really_ sick. In fact, I passed out, right when Colt and I were in the middle of nowhere. We didn’t have any antibiotics, nothing. You can ask Colt about it if you wanna know more, I don’t really remember a lot of it. I was completely out of it at the time, having these insane dreams, I didn’t even know what was real and what was not anymore.’

     ‘How did you survive?’ Devitt asked.

     ‘I have Colt to thank for that,’ Punk said with a smile. ‘Colt, Luci and ‘Deus ex Mason-a’.’

     ‘Deus? I thought you were an atheist?’

     ‘I am,’ Punk confirmed. ‘But these last few months have ignited something in me. Some kind of faith, I guess.’

     ‘In God?’

     ‘No,’ Punk snorted, shaking his head. ‘In people. Don’t get me wrong, most of them still suck but… the good ones, they’re really something. Anyway, that’s getting off topic. The fact is that I killed Orton and in return, he tried to kill me in the slowest, most painful way and he very nearly succeeded. He made me weak and that’s all my mark reminds me of.’

     ‘I understand,’ Devitt said. ‘But if you’ll forgive me for putting a poetic spin on this-‘

     ‘No! No poetic spin, forget it.’

     ‘Come on, man, listen! Yes, it made you weak but it also gave you strength too.’

     ‘How’d you figure that?’

     ‘You survived! Yeah, you had some help but maybe that’s where your strength lies; in the bonds you have with your friends. Look at Colt, he’ll do anything to protect those he cares about.’

     ‘I would never have gotten this far without him,’ Punk sighed with a smile,

     ‘And you said yourself you’ve had your faith restored in the goodness of humanity. Maybe that’s what your mark represents?’

     ‘Or maybe it’s just a fucking bite wound from one dirty motherfucker’s mouth,’ Punk said, halting the conversation and Devitt smirked to himself, remembering how Punk had said the same thing before. This was just something else they would never see eye-to-eye on.

     The both looked up on hearing a rumble of thunder in the thick grey clouds overheard.

     ‘Rains about to start, let’s head inside,’ Devitt suggested and the two men walked towards the gas station.

 

     Inside the building, the tension was palpable. Every member of the Bullet Club was rammed into the small space that once served as a shop at the front of the building. Several tarps had been hoisted up over their heads to try and block out the coming rain but as the heavens opened, they proved nearly useless at the task. The room was clearly split into two sections; those loyal to Devitt were grouped at one end of the shop glaring warily at those who had betrayed him, huddled at the other.

   As Devitt and Punk walked into the building, all eyes turned to them and the two men could feel the tension instantly. This was only heightened when one of Devitt’s men stood up.

     ‘Prince!’ he yelled. ‘How can you let these assholes back into the Club after everything they did tonight?’

     ‘They were manipulated by-‘ Devitt started to say when another member interrupted, from the other side of the room this time.

     ‘You said our slates would be wiped clean, so why are they still judging us?’

     ‘You betrayed our leader,’ another loyal follower piped up.

     ‘You tried to fucking kill him and you think we should just forgive that?’

     ‘It wasn’t our fault, it was Styles-‘

     ‘Oh yeah, cause it’s easy to blame the dead man.’

     Suddenly the room around them turned into a screaming match. Each side started yelling at one another, at first, there were at least valid arguments but after a while it all turned into curses and slurs. Devitt threw his exhausted head back and closed his eyes, growing sick of the bickering. He was worn out and ground down and all he wanted was some peace. Amongst the cacophony, he finally found his clarity and saw what he needed to do.

     ‘SHUT THE FUCK UP!’ he bellowed and on hearing the usually softly spoken man scream with such ferocity, the rest of the group went silent. ‘Thank you,’ Devitt said, rubbing his temple, which was still sticky with his own blood. ‘It’s been a rough night, ok? I get it! But nobody here has been through the ringer as much as me so just shut up and let me say my piece.’ Everybody around him sat down on the floor once more, all eyes focused on the young man covered in blood and bruises. Only Punk remained standing, leaning against the wall behind Devitt.

     ‘Tonight I was betrayed. I watched as my own brothers, the men I had sworn into the Club, turn their backs on me and tried to lynch me in my own camp. I know you were manipulated by Styles and I know you were caught up in the frenzy of seeing Omega’s corpse but even so… you still chose his word over mine. Had this been the other way round and one of you was accused of the crime, I know, and more importantly, _you_ know, that I would have allowed both sides to talk and listened carefully before I acted. Instead, you heard one side and decided there and then that I had to die.’ The words struck a chord with the group and many hung their heads in shame.

     ‘Just in case you needed clarity, no I did not kill Kenny Omega. Styles did. No I am not losing my mind and no I did not stab Styles then run away into the wilderness, naked. Those were all rumours… started by Styles. I can understand your doubt, but I cannot forgive it. These men here,’ he motioned to his loyal party, ‘they heard the same rumours but they chose to give me the benefit of the doubt and find out the truth for themselves. They still stuck by me through all of this.

     ‘Tonight has been tough and it’s brought out some nasty truths that until now, I have been in complete denial of. That there _is_ tension in the Bullet Club. That this tension has always been there. That this ‘brotherhood’ is not as tight as I thought it was.

     ‘My presence here brings strong emotions. Some of you hated me enough to try and take my life tonight. Others loved me so much that they would die for me. These emotions will not fade away easily and while I’m still here, they will keep tearing the Club apart. I can’t allow that. I know that for most of you, the Club was the only thing keeping you alive. You have nowhere else to go. We _need_ the Bullet Club and we need it to survive.

     ‘But for that to happen… I have to leave.’

     Uproar erupted at this news. Devitt allowed it to grow, to let his men blow off some steam but after a while, he raised his hand and the room went silent once more.

     ‘I know that you will all be confused and angry but you must realise that this is the only solution. I’m stepping down as leader of the Bullet Club and in my place, I give the responsibility to the Young Bucks.’ He looked over to Nick and Matt who sat there, gobsmacked, staring with their mouths open wide at their former leader. ‘They are two strong, brave men and loyal to the Club. I’ve never heard a bad word said about them from any of you so I believe, no, I _know_ , that you will rally behind him. Bridge the divide that came between us brothers and make the Bullet Club great again.’

     ‘But where will you go?’ Matt asked, jumping up.

     ‘I made a promise a few days ago that I intend to keep.’ Devitt slowly turned around to face Punk. The Chicago native rolled his eyes.

     ‘But I just got rid of you,’ Punk whined.

     ‘Three against three is better odds against the Shield,’ Devitt said.

     ‘There’s just no fucking point in arguing with you,’ Punk groaned. ‘You always find a way to win.’ Punk suddenly became aware that all eyes were on him. He scanned the room until his gaze fell upon Colt who merely shrugged back and motioned that it was his decision. Punk rolled his eyes again. ‘Fine,’ he said.

     ‘There you have it,’ Devitt said to the crowd. ‘I understand that many of you will have questions about my decision and I’m happy to talk to you about it. Just allow me some time to get my wounds seen to and to rest a little. I suggest you all do the same too. Young Bucks?’ he looked over to the two young men again. ‘The floor’s yours, brothers.’

     Devitt walked away towards the small office to get treated leaving the floor empty. The two young brothers gingerly got to their feet and took their place in the center of the room. They looked upon their brothers’ faces and froze.

     ‘Well, uh…’ Nick stammered. ‘I guess we…’

     ‘Firstly, we need to make sure that everybody’s had their injuries seen to,’ Matt took up the mantle. ‘While the rain’s on, we’ll all take this opportunity to rest. After that, we’ll have to return to the camp, gather up our stuff and eat. Then we need to decide where we’re going next…’

     Devitt looked over his shoulder as the two men found their stride and smiled proudly.

 

     Punk walked into the small office to find Colt attending to Devitt’s wounds. Most of the blood had been wiped off and the younger man was looking more presentable.

     ‘Everything working fine?’ Punk asked the pair.

     ‘Nothing broken,’ Colt replied without looking up from his work. ‘Just finishing up with these stitches.’

     Punk whistled on seeing the ragged wound that cut across Devitt’s cheek and temple, left by Styles’ gunshot. ‘Jeez, I thought that thing would look better once you got all cleaned up.’

     ‘Colt reckons it’ll leave a scar,’ Devitt sighed sadly.

     ‘Hey, I said ‘a _cool_ scar’,’ Colt corrected.

     ‘Good thing too,’ Punk taunted. ‘You want to come with us, you need to downgrade your looks from ‘movie star’ to ‘average guy’. I’ll allow for ‘above average’, you know, to match up with Colt and I.’ Devitt began to laugh and received a scolding from Colt for moving. ‘We’ll also have to start loading you up with carbs. I swear to God if I have to see your goddamn washboard abs again-‘

     ‘Will you quit it?’ Colt scolded Punk now on seeing how Devitt was suppressing his laugh, causing his body to shake.

     ‘Sorry _Mom!’_

Colt gave Punk a menacing look and, in return, Punk made a motion as if he were zipping his mouth shut and the three men went silent until Colt finally finished.

     ‘There! Done!’ Colt said then turned to Punk. ‘You can make your stupid jokes now.’

     ‘Not after you sucked all the fun out of it,’ Punk sulked.

     ‘Thank you, Colt,’ Devitt said as he checked out his stitches in an old, water-damaged mirror on the wall.

     ‘Say, uh…’ Punk started and winced slightly as if the next words physically pained him, ‘… Prince…?’

     ‘No, not Prince, not anymore,’ the Irishman interrupted.

     ‘What the-? I’m reaching out an olive branch here and you just suddenly change your-‘

     ‘Prince Devitt was leader of the Bullet Club,’ Devitt pointed out and he smiled warmly. ‘I’m not.’

     ‘So what then? Devitt? I’m not calling you Fergal. We’re not at that first-name stage yet,’ Punk joked.

     Devitt turned to Colt. ‘What was that name I gave you when we first met?’

     ‘Finn Bálor,’ Colt replied.

     ‘Finn Bálor,’ Devitt repeated, feeling the words on his tongue. ‘An Irish folk hero and the Demon King. Seems appropriate enough. Plus…’ his voice softened to little more than a whisper, ‘… my dad gets called Finn…’

     ‘When’s the last time you saw your parents?’ Colt asked, seeing his friend’s face fall.

     ‘Too long ago. I don’t think they even know I’m still alive - I haven’t spoken to them since before the Event. Maybe, after I reunite you with your friend, Punk, it’s time I went home.’

     ‘At least you still have a home to go to,’ Punk pointed out and Devitt looked at the pair of them, two men who had lost everything, their homes, their town, their livelihoods and he suddenly realised how fortunate he truly was. He had no idea why he had put off going back to his native Ireland – maybe it was the pull of the wild or maybe the comfort he found within the bond of his brotherhood. But now, that didn’t seem enough anymore and for the first time in years, he found himself stricken with homesickness.

     Feeling the shift in mood in the room, Punk squirmed and tried to change the subject. ‘Hey Finn,’ he said to the younger man who smiled on hearing his new moniker. ‘Colt told me you once popped your own shoulder back into its joint. How are you with resetting broken noses?’

     ‘I’ve never done it before but I’m sure I could give it a try,’ Devitt replied.

     Colt’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. ‘Oh no, it’s fine,’ Colt argued, pointing to his nose which looked like a half-squashed tomato on his face. ‘I’m fine, honest.’

     ‘The word ‘fine’ does not begin with a ‘d’, Colt,’ Punk shook his head with mock sadness.

     ‘It’s delicate work,’ Devitt said, cracking his knuckles. ‘You’ll have to hold him down to make sure he doesn’t make any sudden movements.’

     ‘We gotta do what we gotta do,’ Punk nodded.

     ‘I really think it’s ok!’ Colt argued.

    ‘Colt, can you hear yourself? You’re really not ok.’

     ‘You son of a bitch! Is this payback for me rubbing alcohol on your infection? Cause if it is, I’m sorry!’

   ‘Colt, Colt, Colt,’ Punk said placing his palm over his chest. ‘I understand that you were just doing what you thought was best for me back then. Let me do what’s best for you right now. Here,’ he took off his studded belt and offered it to Colt, ‘you’ll be needing this.’ He said it with sympathy but there was a mischievous glint in his eye.

     Around halfway into the ‘procedure’, Nick came bursting into the room. He was shocked to find Colt being pinned into a chair by Punk while Devitt had his fingers clamped down on his bloody nose. All three men stopped and turned around, clearly not happy about the interruption.

     ‘Is uh… everything ok?’ Nick asked, suddenly feeling very awkward. ‘It sounds like someone’s getting murdered in here.’

     ‘We’re all good,’ Devitt smiled back at him.

     ‘Oooooo…kkkkkkkk,’ Nick grimaced and swiftly shut the door, leaving the three men to continue their task. Devitt grabbed Colt’s nose again and the Chicago native struggled and squealed in his chair.

     ‘Not long now, Colt,’ Punk said as he held back Colt’s arms. ‘You’re doing really good.’ He looked up at Devitt. ‘Can I apply the alcohol?’

     ‘YOU DIRTY, MOTHER-FUCKING, SON OF A-‘


	28. Goodbye Georgia!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, what is this oddity? A short chapter? Well, I never!

     Punk, Colt and Finn left the camp the following night. Finn wasn’t keen on sticking around much longer and was itching to get on the open road. Punk was more than thrilled with this news, having felt as if he’d been treading water for some time now. Colt was just happy the pair weren’t tearing each other’s throats out anymore.

     They left in the middle of the night without any fanfare, pausing only to stop and speak to the Young Bucks. Finn thanked them for everything they had done for him and wished them all the best for the future. He reassured the young men that he had every faith in them. After their brief conversation, they disappeared like ghosts in the night.

     Punk knew that their progress the last week or so had been slow but was utterly dismayed when he saw on the map just how little ground they had gained. There was still a long way to go to reach the border leading to Florida although with only the three of them, their pace quickened considerably. Each day they ticked off the miles, getting ever closer to their destination. And each day, Punk’s mood became noticeably lighter.

     Despite his reservations, Punk found Finn to be a welcome addition to their party. Having a third body meant everyone got more consistent time to rest, which, in turn, meant that those on watch duty were refreshed and alert for any trouble. Finn was also a master raider, which meant their packs were always well stocked. As they went from town to town, Finn picked up a myriad of objects that Punk and Colt would never have thought to take; torches, batteries, maps of the local area. In one town, he had raided a junkyard and emerged with a pair of bolt cutters.

     ‘What the hell do you need those for?’ Punk had yelled on seeing the massive metal shears.

     ‘If we’d had these back when you were attacked by Baron Corbin, you would have been free of those cuffs a lot quicker,’ Finn argued and the trio agreed to bring them, so long as Finn carried them in his pack. With enough food, rest and forgiving dry weather, the last leg of their journey was, surprisingly, quite pleasant.

     One evening, the trio made camp and were sitting around the fire, waiting for their evening meal of tinned meat and beans to cook. The night was dry and calm and all three men felt in high spirits.

     ‘Oh crap,’ Colt said warily out of the blue and a second later he sneezed violently. He instantly clutched his battered nose, which had been wrapped as best as they could with a basic first aid kit. ‘Oh _fuuuuck!’_

     ‘You ok?’ Finn asked him.

     Colt looked up with watery eyes and nodded miserably. ‘That fucking _sucked!_ ’

     ‘Just be careful when you sneeze,’ Punk said, ‘we don’t want you ruining our good work.’

     ‘Fuck off,’ Colt shot back.

     ‘Actually, it’s looking a little squint again,’ Punk said leaning forward. ‘Here, let us have another go-‘

     ‘Fuck! _Off!’_ Colt yelled, moving away from his friend. Punk feigned bewilderment.

     ‘Can you believe this guy?’ he turned to Finn. ‘And everything we’ve done for him, this is the thanks we get.’

     ‘I know,’ Finn said, shaking his head. ‘That’s gratitude for you.’

     ‘Yeah well, maybe, I’d be more grateful if you two hadn’t laughed so hard after you’d wrapped my fucking nose!’ Colt spat at the pair.

     ‘We can’t help it,’ Punk said with a wide grin. ‘You look like one of those puppets off of Sesame Street.’

     ‘Yeah!’ Finn said, ‘Gonzo!’

     ‘No, Gonzo was on the Muppet Show,’ Punk debated. ‘Who’s the guy who lives with the other guy. He’s yellow and has the eyebrow?’

     ‘Bert!’ Finn burst out.

     ‘Bert! That’s it! You look like Bert!’

     ‘I’m not fucking Bert!’ Colt yelled. ‘If anything _you’re_ Bert. You’re the grouchy, pissed off one. Ernie’s the happy-go-lucky, fun guy. I’m totally Ernie! You’re fucking Bert!’

     ‘Now, now, no need to be so grouchy, Bert,’ Punk taunted and Colt gritted his teeth.

     ‘Back me up here, Finn,’ Colt turned to the younger man.

     ‘Yeah, Ernie,’ Finn scolded Punk. ‘Stop bullying poor Bert!’

     ‘I’M NOT FUCKING BERT!’ Colt shouted furiously as his companions laughed hysterically at his outrage. Seeing that he was getting nowhere, he clamped his mouth shut and began to sulk.

     ‘So, if Colt is Bert, which Sesame Street character are you?’ Finn asked Punk.

     ‘You even need to ask?’ Punk looked at Finn as if he were crazy.

     Both Finn and Colt shared a look before saying in unison, ‘Oscar the Grouch!’

     ‘Damn right,’ Punk agreed.

     ‘And me?’ Finn asked. Punk paused, thinking hard.

     ‘Maybe Elmo,’ he said slowly. ‘He’s kinda the cutesie, popular one. Plus I really want to punch him in the face.’

     ‘Heeyy,’ Colt interrupted, ‘I like Elmo!’

     ‘You’ve already got Ernie,’ Punk scolded.

     I’m not fucking Ber- alright, you know what, I’m done with this. Let’s move on.’

     ‘Classic Bert move,’ Punk whispered to Finn.

     ‘I’M NOT-! Shut up! Since when are you two such best buddies anyway?’ Punk and Finn didn’t say anything in reply, just merely shrugged and pointed to their left shoulders. ‘I… I don’t even know what that means!’ Again, the pair said nothing but just tapped the side of their noses, indicating that it was a secret. Colt, however, took it to be a mocking of his injury. ‘You know what? _Fuck_ you guys!’ He grabbed his share of the meal and stomped off to eat alone, while Punk and Finn chuckled away.

 

     That night, Finn was on first watch while the other two slept. He poked a stick into the fire to keep the embers smouldering when he suddenly froze. He craned his ears and listened carefully, trying to pick out the subtle sounds of the still night. He heard it again. He looked back to check on Punk and Colt and seeing them both fast asleep, he slipped on his leather jacket, pulled his bandana up over his face and headed out into the night.

     His light, swift feet carried him fast over the earthy ground and even in the thick darkness, he masterfully dodged the overhanging branches and protruding tree stumps. He ran in a wide arch, picking up speed as he neared his target. Once he had reached full throttle he jumped up high and raised his feet, slamming them into the side of the intruder and sending him sprawling with a start across the floor.

     ‘What the fuck!’ Seth Rollins yelled out but Finn was on him in a flash, stomping him on the chest to force him back down to the ground. With a foot on either side of the stranger’s chest, Finn stood over him, his face dark and menacing.

     ‘You from the Shield?’ he asked the man in a sinister tone.

     ‘What you say?’ Seth asked, still trying to piece together what had just happened. ‘Dude, you sound like a drunk stereotype.’

     Finn smashed his heel down into Seth’s chest again. ‘Is that clearer now?’ he asked.

     Seth coughed some wind back into his lungs. ‘Yeah, yeah, much better,’ he winced. ‘How the hell did you know I was here?’

     ‘You’ve been following us for most of the evening,’ Finn informed him. ‘You’ve been keeping your distance but I noticed you joining us just before dusk. You haven’t exactly been subtle.’ He noticed Seth’s face turning red with fury. ‘Aww, you thought nobody had noticed, didn’t you?’

     ‘Your stupid friends didn’t notice,’ Seth spat at him.

     ‘They’re new to the jungle,’ Finn shrugged. ‘But so are you.’ Seth’s face turned beetroot and he gritted his teeth. ‘You, and your friends in the Shield, I can tell you’ve had a taste of the wild. You’re like a pack of dogs in the woods, hunting down and ripping apart your prey, thinking you are so clever and vicious. But at the end of the day, you’re still domesticated and your master provides you with everything you need.’ He crouched down, resting his arms on his knees and leaned in closer to Seth. In the failing light, his bandana gave the impression of a row of jagged, bloody teeth. ‘But now, the dogs are hunting a wolf. He knows the wild; he _lives_ it, every day. And he is a real predator, with sharp claws and fangs and the taste of blood on his lips.’ Seth found himself hypnotised by the Irishman’s ice blue eyes, which seemed to light up in the darkness. He felt a bead of cold sweat run down his cheek. ‘If any of you come near us again, I will know and I will kill you.’

     ‘The fuck are you? Liam Neeson?’ Seth said, trying to act as if he wasn’t unnerved by the enigmatic stranger. Finn, however, saw that he had made his point and ignored the two-toned haired man’s snarky comment. He slowly stood up and stepped back, allowing the Shield member to get to his feet.

     ‘Forget Punk and Colt. Go back home to your nice warm kennel in Illinois like a good dog,’ he teased in a deadly tone.

     ‘You’re fucking crazy, man,’ Seth sneered and bolted off in the opposite direction.

     Finn watched him disappear into the shadows and pulled his bandana back down. His body was pumping with adrenaline and his heart was racing. _So that was a member of the Shield_ , he thought to himself. _This is going to be tougher than I thought._

     He walked back to the camp and was surprised to find Punk awake and waiting for him by the fire.

     ‘They’ve found us again, huh?’ he said to Finn as he wandered over and sat opposite him.

     ‘One of them,’ Finn elaborated, ‘soon, the other two will know as well. I tried to scare him off.’

     ‘Think it’ll work?’

     ‘No.’

     ‘It was worth a try.’

     ‘It was impulsive,’ Finn said, kicking himself. ‘I gave away our advantage. Now that they know they can’t sneak up on us, they’ll attack us head on. I think I’ve put us in greater danger. I’m sorry.’

     ‘You did what you thought was best,’ Punk shrugged. ‘And if they attack, we’ll be ready.’

     ‘You said that Rollins guy was the least dangerous?’ Finn asked.

     ‘Marginally,’ Punk replied, ‘but yeah.’

     ‘Then I hope I never meet the other two.’

     Punk merely nodded sullenly in return. ‘Now that we know they’re on our tail again, we’ll go back to travelling at night and sleeping during the day. We’ll have to cut down our rest time too. And we’ll avoid the towns; stick to the back-roads and rural areas.’

     ‘We’ve enough provisions to last us until Tampa anyway,’ Finn added.

     ‘We’ve come this far,’ Punk said through gritted teeth. ‘I’m not giving in without a fight. Not when we’re this close.’

     Keen to make ground as soon as possible, they woke Colt and packed up their camp, remembering to extinguish the fire before heading out into the night. As the flames died down into ash, their good moods went with it, replaced with that old, familiar feeling of dread.

     They carried on through the rest of the night and continued during the day, hoping to put as much distance between themselves and the Shield as they could. The pace was quick and even though all three men were used to travelling long distances at speed, they were started to show signs of fatigue. Looking around the group, Punk knew they would have to find somewhere safe to rest soon.

     Finn was on high alert and constantly scanned his surroundings, seeking out any hints that somebody was following them or that they were about to be ambushed. Punk checked in with him every so often but each time he had to admit, there was nothing he could spot. They couldn’t decide if this was a comfort or a bad omen of things to come. Finn could feel the tight tension in the air around him. It reminded him of the first time he had met Punk and Colt. They had just had a close escape from the Shield and were desperately trying to shake their pursuers off their scent. He had been able to help them then but now, they were reaching the end of his territory; there were no more tunnels, no more hiding places to conceal them. He felt the weight of their fears, even more so since a target had now been painted on his back too. But he was determined to protect his new companions no matter what. Even if it came at the cost of his own life, he would make sure that Punk and Colt made it to Tampa alive and well. He had vowed to take down the Shield and keep them down.

   Even Punk and Colt felt better knowing a seasoned fighter like Finn had their backs. Despite being the shortest and wiriest of the three, he had the quickness, agility and ruthlessness that they sorely lacked. He was also a complete unknown to the Shield. Chances are they would underestimate him and pay dearly for it.

     ‘Just a little further,’ Punk said, trying to encourage his worn out companions. ‘We just need to find somewhere safe to stop.’ He lead the way, attempting to scout out a suitable location for them to rest. As they trooped on, Finn sidled up beside Colt.

     ‘Hi,’ Finn said, a little sheepishly.

     ‘Hey,’ Colt said back.

     ‘Look, about last night, I’m sorry if I offended you. For what it’s worth, I think you’re more of an Ernie too‘ Finn said.

     He was surprised to see Colt burst out laughing.

     ‘Hey man, keep it down,’ Punk scolded over his shoulder and Colt tried to clamp his lips together.

     ‘Sorry, buddy,’ he whispered, before turning to Finn. ‘Were you seriously worrying about that all day?’

     ‘I felt bad,’ Finn admitted.

     ‘Don’t be, you crazy bastard,’ Colt grinned. ‘I know it was all a joke. Hell, I probably deserved it seeing how you and I wound Punk up something fierce in the beginning.’

     ‘It’s just…’ Finn trailed off and Colt looked over at him.

     ‘Hey man, what’s up?’

     ‘I… it was all just chaotic, and I didn’t forget or anything, I just… things got in the way…’

     ‘Ok, you’re confusing me now. Just spit it out.’

     ‘I never thanked you for what you did for me back at the camp. Not properly.’

     ‘You don’t need to-‘

     ‘I do! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. You saved my life.’

     ‘I wasn’t going to leave you behind.’

     ‘Not only that. When Styles accused me of killing Omega, you were the only one with the balls to stand up and defend me.’

     ‘I was the only other one who was there when Kenny died. I knew the truth.’

     ‘Maybe so, but most of those men didn’t have to be there to know the truth. They knew me, they knew I was not some crazed killer yet they all chose to turn their back on me. You were the only one who believed in me, the only one to confront Styles and I’ll never forget that. Not to mention, when it all went downhill, you pulled me out of there and got me to safety.’

     ‘Punk and the Young Bucks helped,’ Colt pointed out.

     ‘Will you just shut up, stop being so annoyingly modest and just take my thanks this once?’

     Colt chuckled. ‘Sorry. Keep telling me how awesome I am, then.’

     ‘Ok, turn the modesty back up just a tad,’ Finn joked. ‘What I’m trying to say is that… I’ve never had someone who’s had my back like you, not even Gallows and Anderson and I once considered them closer than family. Thank you for being there for me, for sticking by me and for saving my life, twice… brother.’

     ‘Any time, brother,’ Colt shrugged.

     They walked for another mile or two and finding nowhere safe to sleep, they stopped briefly to rest their aching legs and catch their breaths. Colt, feeling uneasy staying still, left his pack with his companions and went off to scout the surrounding area. While Punk sucked back on his water bottle, Finn got his map out and began searching for their location.

     ‘Hey Punk,’ he said, calling over the former wrestler. ‘Check it out.’ Punk looked over his shoulder and followed where Finn’s finger was pointing. A grin spread across his face. ‘You’re officially in Florida, Straight-Edge.’

     ‘We’ve fucking made it,’ he said with awe.

   ‘Not quite,’ Finn chuckled. ‘But we’re making great progress. Another day or two and you’ll be reunited with your friend.’

     ‘April.’

     ‘Huh?’ Finn asked, confused.

     ‘Her name is April,’ Punk explained. ‘April Jeanette Mendez.’

     Finn watched as Punk finally opened up to him about the mysterious girl he was travelling through hell and high water for and he smiled. He’d never seen the usually sullen man so whimsical before. He was certainly love-struck and it made him more determined to reunite him with the woman he treasured above everything else.

     ‘Hey guys!’ Colt called over. ‘I found somewhere to sleep.’

     ‘Great,’ Finn exclaimed. ‘I don’t think I could last another mile.’

     ‘You don’t have to,’ Colt smiled, ‘it’s just over there, down the slope.’

     Picking up their packs, they followed Colt to the crest of the small hill, finding a shabby barn tucked away at the back of the field. It was empty and isolated – it was perfect! Eagerly, they opened the latch to the barn doors and wandered in. It was dark and musty inside the old building, but surprisingly warm and sheltered. They located large mounds of rotting hay in the back, giving the air a sharp, overly sweet smell, but after endless nights of sleeping on hard packed earth, the soft, springy mulch was a welcome comfort. They forced down some food then Colt and Finn retired to bed, Punk having volunteered for first watch. He wasn’t sure if it was the warmth in the barn, the food sitting in his belly or the miles of the past days travel catching up with him but he felt his eyelids grow heavy and he succumbed to sleep.

     If he had managed to stay awake, he would have seen the figure peek through the door of the barn, he would have spotted the door closing and heard the latch being pulled down, locking all three men inside. He would have realised sooner that they were in grave danger, worse than anything else they had encountered until now.


	29. The Slaughterhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning! Grisly scenes ahead!*

Punk woke up with a start and realised with horror that he had fallen asleep on his watch. He mentally kicked himself for being so stupid and stumbled up to his feet. He had truly been under and was still feeling groggy from having woken up so suddenly.

     He staggered through the darkness to the barn doors, desperate to check whether the coast was clear or if their hiding place had been discovered. He stretched out his arm, feeling his way through the gloom until he found the weathered wooden doors. He pushed but the door did not open. He pushed more forcefully and they still refused to budge.

     ‘What the fuck?’ he muttered under his breath. He thrust his shoulder against the large wooden panels, using as much strength as he could muster but they held strong. ‘Shhhhit!’ he exclaimed and decided it best to wake up Colt and Finn. His companions, like himself, were bleary-eyed from their deep sleep.

     ‘Is it time to move on?’ Colt asked, rubbing the grit from his eyes.

     ‘We’re locked in,’ Punk informed them.

     ‘What do you mean?’ Finn asked, jumping to his feet, instantly awake.

     ‘Fucking doors won’t budge,’ Punk explained.

     ‘Maybe the hinges are just rusty,’ Colt said.

     ‘I’m telling you dude, they’re locked.’

     ‘Did you see anybody?’ Finn asked and Punk began nibbling on his lip ring.

     ‘No,’ he sighed, ‘… I fell asleep.’

     ‘I thought you were on watch duty?’ Finn asked.

     ‘I was. I’m sorry, guys,’ Punk lowered his head with guilt and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I fucked up and let someone lock us in here.’

     ‘You don’t know that,’ Colt said. ‘Who even knows we’re here?’

     ‘The Shield could have caught up to us,’ Punk suggested. ‘Maybe they plan on burning the place down like before?’

     ‘I don’t smell any burning or smoke,’ Colt noted.

     ‘Plus, if the Shield had found us all in here asleep, they would have killed us by now,’ Finn pointed out.

     ‘Who else could it have been?’ Punk demanded.

     ‘It’s pretty windy out,’ Colt observed. ‘Maybe the latch blew over or something.’

     ‘It’s possible,’ Punk said.

     ‘What we should be figuring out is how we get out of here,’ Finn said.

     ‘I saw a small door at the top of the barn,’ Colt informed them. ‘Just above the main doors. It must lead to the attic floor above us.’

     ‘It might be open,’ Finn said. ‘Let’s see how we get upstairs.’

     They searched the interior of the barn and found a section of the ceiling that had been cut away to allow access to the upper store, however the ladder that had once led up to the room was nowhere to be seen.

     ‘Hey Colt, Punk,’ Finn called to his companions as he took several steps back. ‘Give me a boost.’

     The two former wrestlers steadied themselves, their hands cupped in front of them. They braced themselves as Finn came charging towards them. He jumped up and landed both feet in their waiting hands. On cue, they rose up and helped to propel the younger man upwards. Finn used the extra momentum to fly through the air, reached out both arms and finding the edge of the attic floor. Punk and Colt watched as he dangled down from the ceiling like a morbid Halloween decoration.

     ‘Well done Finn,’ Colt said. ‘Can you get up there?’

     ‘Got it,’ Finn replied and pulled himself up into the attic and out of sight, leaving a nervous Punk and Colt below him. Finn looked around his surroundings and found the upper storage room empty, save for an old rocking chair right in its centre. He never gave the chair a passing glance, instead making his way straight to the small door at the other side of the attic. He gave it a push and was hugely relieved to find it opened straight away.

     ‘It’s open,’ he called down to his companions.

     ‘Can you get out from there?’ he heard Colt’s voice.

     Finn looked outside. It was already mid-morning and through the hazy gray, he could see an old winch right above his head. A rope still dangled from its jaws, its frayed edge several feet off the ground. Finn set his jaw.

     ‘I think so,’ he replied.

     He stood as close to the edge of the doorframe as he could and felt the wind whipping his leather jacket. He refused to look down and instead stared up, spotting the winch directly above him. He gripped the doorframe with one hand and gingerly reached out with the other one. The winch was frustratingly just out of reach. If he wanted to grab it, he would have to jump for it.

     He didn’t give himself time to think; thinking caused hesitation and he couldn’t afford that. He just leapt. For a few heart-stopping seconds he hung in the air and when he felt his fingers wrap around the cold, rusted metal, he thanked every god under the sun. As he clutched onto the winch, he dared to look down and saw the sheer drop below him. It wouldn’t kill him but it could break a leg and a messy injury like that would sign his death warrant just as easily as the Shield. He forced himself to look up again.

     He gnashed his teeth as he vaulted across the length of the winch until he reached the rope. He wrapped his legs around the old cord and pulled down on it a couple of times. It seemed secure so, slowly he placed one hand around it, seeing how it coped with his body weight. All seemed well so he applied his second hand, finally putting his full weight on the fragile rope. His heart began beating again on feeling it hold.

     He eased his way down until the rope sharply stopped and his legs were swinging in mid air. He closed his eyes and said a gentle prayer before letting go. He needn’t have worried though, as his cat-like reflexes kicked in and he landed perfectly on the hard ground, not even making a sound as his boots hit the soil.

     ‘That was easy enough,’ he said with surprise. He ran up to the barn doors and found that the latch had indeed been pulled down. He unlocked the doors and opened them, finding Punk and Colt already waiting with their packs.

     ‘Good one, Finn,’ Punk said, passing the Irishman his belongings. ‘Did you see anyone?’

     ‘There’s nobody around at all,’ Finn replied, shouldering his pack.

     ‘Nobody at all?’ Punk knitted his eyebrows together.

     ‘I’m telling you, dude, it’s a fluke,’ Colt said, patting Punk on the shoulder. ‘I know we’re all shaken up with the Shield back on our tail but not everything that happens is somebody trying to kill us.’

     ‘Could have fooled me,’ Punk muttered bitterly. ‘Either way, I don’t really want to stick around. You two ready to head out?’

     ‘Lead the way,’ Colt motioned to his best friend.

 

    They journeyed on to the other side of the field and back into the safety of the woods. The further they ventured into the state, the flatter the terrain became which made their workload easier but offered little to no cover for the three travellers. Soon, they would have to rely on their wits and keep a sharp eye on their surroundings.

     They hadn’t been walking long when they encountered their first obstacle; a twenty foot high fence topped with coils of vicious looking barbed wire. It almost seemed to have appeared out of nowhere and stretched in either direction, halting them in their tracks.

     ‘Can anybody get up and over?’ Punk asked.

     ‘Not without getting caught up in the barbed wire,’ Finn replied. ‘We could use my bolt cutters?’

     ‘Good idea,’ Punk nodded, ‘but it will take an age to cut through all of this.’ He wrapped his fingers in between the interlocking metal wires of the fence. ‘That’s time we don’t have. Let’s see if we can find a gate or something. If we’re lucky, there might be a hole somewhere.’

     ‘Thought you didn’t believe in luck,’ Colt teased.

     ‘At this stage, I’m ready to try anything,’ Punk retorted.

     They walked on and on and on but found no gate or a gap in the fencing. The imposing barrier just seemed to carry on endlessly and they felt as if they were walking in circles. Punk started to grow frustrated and as the time ticked by, he grew more and more impatient.

     ‘This is ridiculous,’ he spat. ‘It has to end sometime.’ They picked up the pace but still the fence carried on as far as the eye could see. ‘That does it! Finn, get your bolt cutters out!’

     ‘Yes, sir,’ Finn obeyed, eager to use his new toy.

     ‘Get down!’ Colt hissed suddenly and all three men crouched down and went as silent as mice.

   ‘What is it, Colt?’ Punk asked, barely raising his voice to a whisper. Without saying a word, Colt lifted his hand and pointed to a small farmhouse a short distance away. It was dilapidated and abused, jutting out of the compound like a shard of broken glass. It had been clad in dark wood, giving the impression that the entire building was a thick shade of black. In the failing light of day, it looked like something from a Stephen King novel and it made Punk feel very uneasy.

     ‘Let’s go back,’ he said under his breath to his companions. ‘Go back to the barn and find another way round this fence.’

     ‘Hold up,’ Colt said. ‘Maybe there’s somebody over there who can help us? Tell us where the gate is?’

     ‘Look at that place, Colt,’ Punk replied. ‘Nobody lives there. It’s just a waste of our time, so let’s go back.’

     ‘If there’s nobody living there, then why are you so keen to leave? Let’s just stay here and cut a hole in this fence.’

     ‘Or we could raid the place?’ Finn suggested. ‘We need some supplies anyway.’

     ‘I thought you said we had plenty of food,’ Punk shot at him.

     ‘I said we had enough to reach Tampa,’ Finn corrected him. ‘Which should have taken three days at the most. But we’ve wasted a day, first with the barn and now with this fence. We’ll be really stretching our supplies now.’

     ‘Not to mention, that’s only enough food to _reach_ Tampa,’ Colt pointed out. ‘It could take days - weeks even - to find April. What if we can’t find supplies in the city? We need to take these opportunities when they come.’

     ‘I don’t like it,’ Punk admitted. ‘I mean, look at that place!’

     ‘You just said yourself that nobody lives there.’

     ‘Nobody _good_ lives there!’ Punk corrected himself.

     ‘Look, I get that you’re scared,’ Colt said, placing his hand on Punk’s shoulder.

     ‘I’m not scared!’ Punk spat back.

     ‘You’re now so close to finding April that you believe something bad will happen and you’ll fall at the last hurdle,’ Colt said in a steady voice and Punk lowered his head, knowing that this was all true. ‘I get that you’re scared. I’m fucking scared too! But we’re still trying to survive here and if we were in Missouri, Kentucky or Georgia, you wouldn’t even hesitate to go in there.’

     ‘My gut is telling me something’s not right,’ Punk insisted one last time.

     ‘If you don’t want to go, that’s fine,’ Finn chimed in. ‘Colt and I can scout the place out and you can stay here and cut through the fence.’ He handed Punk the bolt cutters but still, the Chicago native seemed really uneasy.

     ‘Finn’s a pro at this,’ Colt said, trying desperately to reassure his friend. ‘We’ll be fine.’

     Punk watched as the two men turned and began to walk through the woods towards the farmhouse. He stood, his hand feeling clammy as it gripped the bolt cutters. Something in his head began screaming.

     ‘Guys! Wait up,’ he called and ran after them.

 

     The farmyard was even more imposing up close and as the three travellers sneaked into the compound, Punk felt his anxiety grip him tighter. He wasn’t a coward by any stretch of the imagination but something about this place ripped fear through his heart. It reminded him of something out of a horror movie, and he would know (he considered himself an anorak on the subject) and if those films had taught him anything, they were meant to be getting away from this place, not moving further in. The three men stopped and hid behind a rusty shell of an old 4x4.

     ‘Stay here,’ Finn ordered the other two. ‘I’m going to scout the place.’ This was their normal protocol; Finn, being by far the stealthiest of the three, would often go check for any signs of life before they explored any further. While he disappeared into the night, Punk and Colt waited with bated breath.

     ‘Colt,’ Punk whispered to his friend.

     ‘What is it?’ Colt replied.

     ‘You smell that?’

     ‘It’s an old farm. It’s gonna have all kinds of strange smells.’

     Before Punk had a chance to reply, Finn returned. ‘It’s empty,’ he informed the pair.

     ‘See? Nobody’s here,’ Colt said, trying to comfort Punk. ‘Feel better?’

     ‘I’m good,’ was all Punk replied.

     They all stood up and began to walk into the compound. Night had fully fallen and the abandoned farmyard was shrouded in shadows. It was still and silent; reminding Punk of the first time he had set eyes on the corpse of Chicago. His fingers were trembling so he crossed his arms and stuffed his hands into his armpits. He had to get passed the fear and push on.

     Finn pulled out three flashlights from his pack and tried each in turn. One switched on and he passed it to Colt, the other he gave to Punk before pulling one out for himself. ‘What are we doing?’ he asked.

     ‘I’ll look for a gate or someway over the fence,’ Punk said. The barbed wire border had followed them up to the farm and wound its way around the compound. He felt confident that there was an entry nearby in order to allow access to the yard.

     ‘I’ll check the house,’ Colt said.

     ‘And I’ll check the outbuildings,’ Finn replied. ‘Meet back here in fifteen.’

     The three men went their separate ways. Punk, now alone, gripped the torch in his shaking fingers and solemnly wound his way between the imposing shacks that crowded around the farmhouse like predators moving in to devour their prey. The night was warm and there was a heavy thickness in the air, a closeness that stuck to his skin and made him sweat. Yet, despite the beads forming on his forehead and dripping down his cheek, he still shivered. The strange smell he noted earlier followed him around like a stalker in the shadows, ever present but lurking out of view.

     He made it to the other side of the compound and located the fence. It didn’t take him long to find the gates; two tall, imposing structures of intertwining metal, orange with rust and topped with a crown of barbed wire. A chain held the gates in place, he observed, but they would offer little resistance to Finn’s bolt cutters.

     He was about to make his way back to the meeting point when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. His heart almost burst and he instinctively swung round, using his heavy flashlight to try and bludgeon his attacker. He watched as Finn easily dodged the swipe and stood with his hands up in apology.

     ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,’ he said as Punk tried to breath life into his spooked lungs.

     ‘The fuck you doing?’ Punk hissed at him, clutching his chest as he willed his heart to slow back down.

     ‘My torch went out,’ Finn said, raising his useless flashlight. ‘Can I borrow yours?’

     ‘Ass!’ Punk cursed, but began to calm down again from his adrenaline rush. ‘I’m done here, anyway,’ he finally said, motioning to the gate ‘I’ll come with.’

     ‘Cool,’ Finn replied as the two men made their way back into the heart of the compound. ‘I’ve checked the first two outbuildings, just a few more to go.’

     ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Punk said, feeling more on edge than before.

 

     Meanwhile, Colt was slowly easing his way into the old farmhouse. He carefully opened the creaky door, trying to keep as quiet as possible. Finn hadn’t spotted any sign of life but that didn’t mean they were in the clear. If there was someone in the compound, they were likely to be inside the house. He opened the door enough to slide his body in, and found himself in the cold, grey kitchen.

     ‘Bingo,’ he muttered to himself and switched on his flashlight to search the room better. The kitchen was filthy, covered in thick swathes of grime and dirt. Utensils were scattered across the worktops haphazardly as if somebody had been making a meal and had to leave all of a sudden. His eye was drawn to a particularly dark spot in the corner of the kitchen but before he had a chance to explore further, he heard a strange crack come from the room next to him. He went silent and stood as still as a statue, listening intently for any more sounds.

     More cracks and snaps followed and he realised it was the sound of a fire. His mind panicked and before he knew it, he was back in that burning building with Punk, locked in by a boarded window as the room around him became engulfed in flame and smoke. He felt the black clouds filling his lungs and choking him…

     _No!_ He shook his head and forced himself back to the present. _Not now! This is not the time for another panic attack!_ He steadied his breathing again and gulping down any remaining fear, he eased his way to the door.

     Opening it just a crack, he peeked into the room, finding a worn, almost bare living room. The only pieces of furniture were a table with two wooden chairs and a tattered armchair. The fire he had heard was simmering away on the hearth with a large, aluminium stew pot suspended over the flames. Despite its shabby appearance, the room was warm and inviting and brimming with a rich aroma coming from the pot that made Colt’s mouth water.

     It was clear that the occupants of the house were not around at that moment so Colt walked further into the room and over to the fireplace. He went to lift the lid.

     ‘Ah!’ he cried out as he singed his fingers on the hot metal. He sucked his sensitive fingertips before stuffing his hand into his sleeve and used it as a crude oven mitt to lift the lid off successfully, finding a thick, rich soup inside the pot. The smell invaded his nostrils and he breathed it deep, feeling drool start to form on the corner of his mouth. He spotted a ladle resting idly against the side of the pot and used it to stir the contents. Thick, pink pieces of meat swirled in the honey coloured sauce and he found himself aching for a hot meal. However, they would not be sticking around long enough for dinner. He sighed sadly and placed the lid back on the pot, but not before taking a quick sip of the warm soup. He let it roll on his tongue. It had an unfamiliar flavour, perhaps rabbit?

     It was almost time for him to rendezvous with his companions and he would return empty handed. They were the good guys after all and they would not steal supplies from other survivors. Reluctantly leaving the warn confines of the living area, Colt made his way back to the stony kitchen. He was almost at the door when that dark spot in the corner caught his eye again. Intrigue got the best of him and he went to investigate further.

 

     ‘This is a big one,’ Finn said as they made their way to the door of a mammoth outbuilding, almost as big as the barn they had slept in the previous night.

     ‘Seriously,’ Punk said, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. ‘You seriously don’t smell that?’

     ‘It’s dead cow,’ Finn replied.

     ‘What?’ Punk asked.

     ‘I found cow bones in one of the sheds here. Looked like they died of starvation. Just collapsed one day and never woke up. That’s what that smell is.’

     ‘It’s everywhere.’

     ‘Calm down,’ Finn tried to reassure Punk, who he could tell was on edge. ‘Five more minutes and we’re out of here. Five more minutes, I promise.’

     ‘I’m fine,’ Punk shot back, sniffing loudly and rubbing his nose again.

     They opened one of the large wooden doors back on its hinges and Punk almost gagged as the smell somehow became stronger. He followed Finn, who walked confidently into the large building, and, swiping the flashlight around the room, they were surprised, and mildly disappointed, to find that it was nowhere near as big as they thought it would be.

     ‘That’s odd,’ Finn said, walking over to the far edge of the room and finding a solid wall. ‘Maybe there’s a back door into the rest of the building.’

     ‘Maybe,’ Punk muttered, not really paying attention as he walked around the room, searching it with his torch. ‘Hey, any of these useful?’ He pointed the light at a bunch of tools pinned up on the wall. Finn came over to inspect each piece.

     ‘Mmmm, not really,’ he said, looking over the range. He ended up pocketing a pair of pliers and small hacksaw anyway. ‘Wonder what these were used for,’ he mused aloud. ‘It’s a strange collection.’

     ‘How should I know?’ Punk uttered back, as he walked towards a workbench at the other side of the room. ‘He made book covers,’ he said suddenly and Finn turned around, confused.

     ‘Where did that come from?’ he asked with his face scrunched up. In response, Punk lifted up a heavy tomb wrapped in deep brown leather. ‘Ah, makes sense,’ Finn said, coming over and grabbing the book. ‘Wow, this has survived really well,’ he said, admiring the craftwork.

     ‘Hmm,’ Punk said, flatly. There were other scraps of tanned leather sprawled across the worktop, sitting waiting for the next project. He shone his torch on the brown strips, something not sitting right in his stomach.

     ‘Look at all these markings though,’ Finn said, running his finger over the many small pictures etched in dark grey across the leather. ‘How did he do that?’

     Punk stood as still as a rock, staring intently at the strips of leather, each of which were also covered in designs; pictures of ships at sea, pin-up girls and swallows, stars and cobwebs, numbers and words that he could not fathom their meaning. He could feel the dread rising up from his boots into his gut. His heart began to beat wildly again and his breathing picked up its pace.

     ‘Gimme that!’ he said, grabbing the book from Finn and inspecting it thoroughly. He was having trouble balancing the book and the flashlight so he threw the torch over to Finn. ‘Shine that over here,’ he ordered and Finn did as he was told. Punk finally saw the book clearly, could see all the tanned leather and all the markings that he had never seen before but were somehow so familiar. He held the book up in one hand and pulling up his sleeve, rested his bare arm against the leather.

     ‘Holy-!’ Finn cursed behind him.

     ‘They’re not marks,’ Punk said with acid in his tone. ‘They’re tattoos. That’s fucking human skin!’ In a mix of rage and disgust, he threw the book across the room. The abomination struck the opposite wall and both men stopped on hearing a loud crack. They exchanged a look and ran to the wall, finding a long, jagged hole where the book had struck it. Punk kneeled down to inspect the hole and instantly recoiled.

     ‘This is it,’ he reeled, pulling his shirt up over his face.

     ‘What is?’ Finn asked.

     ‘This is where the smell’s coming from,’ Punk explained and put his fingers through the hole. The entire wall shook and both men realised that it was not a solid wall, but a large door. Together, they grabbed the thin wooden frame and slid almost half of the wall over on itself to reveal a hidden room.

 

     Colt walked towards the dark corner and became aware of a strong, iron smell. He jammed his nose into the crook of his arm, feeling his eyes begin to sting slightly. The black stains which had darkened this part of the room in the grey shadows, began to glisten a vibrant red and Colt realised, to his horror, that it was blood. It was oozing across the granite worktop, forming crimson icicles over the edge and slowly dripping down to join the mass of red on the floor. The scene should have been enough to make Colt run for it, but he stood still, intrigued by the source of the mess.

     A chopping board, covered in a thick layer of scarlet, with a blood splattered butchers knife resting flat against the hacked wood.

     There were some discarded pieces of meat left behind, clearly too small, or rotten to go into the soup currently simmering on the stove. He walked closer, his eyes focused on a small, twig-like piece stuck to the butcher’s block by the red, sticky liquid. With barely steady fingers, he reached out and grabbed the twig and held it up, shining the flashlight for a better view. In the cold light of the torch, he could finally make out the meaty stump on one end, a shard of bone protruding from it.

     He could see the indented knuckle…

     … the nail…

 

     Upon revealing the hidden room, the smell hit them instantly. Punk threw up a pocket of vomit in his mouth. He spat it out and looked over at Finn who had managed not to gag but had gone noticeably pale and had pulled his bandana over his nose and mouth. He glanced back at Punk, dread in his blue eyes.

     ‘You’ve got the light,’ Punk said, clearly reluctant to find out what was in this mysterious, foul-smelling room. Finn nodded back and slowly raised the torch, shining light on the horrors inside.

     Both men froze on seeing the sight before them. While neither spoke, they could hear each other’s breathing start to become quicker with disgust and fear. Punk’s heart began to beat so wildly that he felt a pulse throbbing in his temple and blood pounding in his ears. He felt his face go pale as cold sweat ran down his chin.

     The room was large and cold, decorated with metal hooks that dangled from chains attached to the ceiling. There were around twelve chains in all and two of them were occupied. Two hunks of meat, each in a different state of butchery swayed idly, making their chains rustle. Each had their rib cages cracked open and their innards ripped out. Limbs had been hacked off, some of which were piled up on a table in the far corner. The floor was awash in pools of blood congealing on the slaughterhouse floor.

     ‘Does that look like fucking cows to you?’ Punk asked bitterly. The corpses had been mutilated beyond recognition but there was no denying what they were.

     Human remains!

     ‘We need to get out of here, right now!’ Punk demanded, turning away from the gruesome scene and making a beeline for the door. Finn eagerly followed, clearly traumatised by the vision he had just seen. ‘We’ll find Colt and get the fuck away from this god-forsaken-‘

     A light flashed through the main door of the outbuilding and both men ducked down out of sight. They each clamped their hands over their mouths, trying to stifle the sound of their breathing as they listened to the footsteps marching their way towards the compound.

     ‘It might be Colt,’ Finn said barely raising his voice above a whisper. As if on cue, a strange man’s voice carried on the wind, strumming a bizarre tune under his breath. Punk peeked around the door of the grisly workshop and spotted a large set man, carrying an oil lantern. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, filthy chinos and a straw hat. His hair was long and matted to match his tangled beard. Beside him walked a giant of a man, decked out in a green boiler suit with the sleeves hacked off. His head was bare but was compensated by a brush of ginger on his chin. What really shook Punk to his core however, was the soiled sheep mask that the behemoth used to hide his face.

     Ice gripped Punk’s heart as he realised these were the men responsible for the atrocities that they were surrounded by at that very moment. The men who, no doubt now, had locked him and his companions in the barn intending for them to meet the same fate as the two poor souls in the slaughter house.

     But worst of all, they had just walked into the farmhouse where Colt was at that very moment!


	30. Escape the Wyatt Compound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the most wonderful time of the year and for an early Christmas pressie, I give you not one but two chapters to enjoy!   
> Happy holidays, everyone and I'll see you in 2020!

     The moment that Punk saw the two men enter the house, he jumped to his feet but Finn grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

     ‘Are you crazy?’ Finn hissed.

     ‘Colt’s in there,’ Punk shot back.

     ‘I know, but did you see the size of those guys?’ Finn reasoned. ‘They won’t be easy to take down and there could be more. We need to think of a plan.’

     ‘We don’t have time!’ Punk cried, glancing back at the house.

     ‘Listen to me, I’ve got an idea,’ Finn said.

 

     Seconds after Colt’s gruesome discovery of the human finger in the kitchen, he had spotted the same light that Punk and Finn had. Thinking it was his friends coming to get him, he ran to the door and only opened it slightly when he heard the strange voice humming a tune and realised with dread that it was the owners of the compound returning. He couldn’t make them out in the darkness but he could see the light of the lantern they were holding coming closer and knew they were heading his way.

     ‘Shit, shit, _shit!’_ he cursed and after a quick glance around the kitchen and finding no other exit or place to hide, he stumbled through to the living area. The once warm and inviting room suddenly seemed claustrophobic while the aroma of the soup, alluring to him only minutes ago now made him want to vomit. He found a door at the other end of the room and discovered a small closet space inside. It wasn’t ideal but as he heard the outside door leading to the kitchen open up behind him, he jammed himself inside the closet and yanked it shut. He barely had time to catch his breath before two men strode into the living room.

     Through the slatted door of the cupboard, Colt could see the two men clearly. The shorter, stockier man lifted his oil lantern and blew out the flames before resting it on the dining table. He ambled over to the fireplace and placed his palms against the mantle, head bowed and eyes fixated on the simmering flames. He continued humming the strange tune that he had been singing outside and it made Colt feel very uncomfortable. He looked over to the other man and suppressed a gasp on seeing the giant, red-bearded man sporting a terrifying sheep mask over his face.

     ‘Three little birds,’ the man by the fire said, in a chilling, sing-song voice that seemed to rumble the room like an earthquake. ‘Three little birds got out of their cage and flew away. But they won’t fly far. Not with my net, no, no.’

     His fingers gripped the edge of the mantle and he threw his head back, his spine almost folded back on itself as he stared manically at the man behind him. Colt almost jumped at the bizarre sight. For a large man, he was quick and agile but also clearly deranged which made him all the more dangerous.

     ‘Keep looking for them,’ the strange man instructed his masked companion. ‘When you see Harper, tell him the same.’ The man nodded and left the room.

     Now alone, the man in the Hawaiian shirt pulled himself upright again and continued to stare into the flames. The room went deathly quiet, so much so that Colt was afraid to even breathe. He kept his eyes transfixed on the strange individual knowing that if he made one wrong move, he would be hacked to pieces and boiled in the very pot on the stove that this man was staring at.

     ‘I see you,’ the man teased and Colt’s heart skipped a beat.

     ‘I hear you,’ the man said and Colt froze into place, waiting for the inevitable.

     ‘I hear all of your little whispers in my ear, sweet Abigail,’ the man said and Colt breathed again. The man was rambling to himself; he hadn’t spotted him… yet. ‘Precious sister, I see you in the ashes. I know you call out for more and I will quench your thirst. Once we have our three little birds, you will taste their blood and we will feast on their flesh. Their essence will be ours and we will-‘

     A loud crash sounded, making Colt almost jump out of his skin. The bearded man backed away from the fireplace and he stared at the stone that had just been hurled through his window. Colt, with stuttered breath, watched and waited for the man to explode with rage but instead he doubled over with laughter.

     ‘Oh Abigail!’ he roared as he threw his head back. ‘Our little birds found their way home.’ As suddenly as his laughter came, it dissolved away again. ‘I will bring them to you, sister.’ He grabbed his lantern and left the room.

     Colt finally allowed himself to breathe and as soon as he heard the back door open and slam shut, he took his chance. Bolting from his hiding place, he barreled through to the grimy kitchen and through the door to the outside. He barely got two steps before a hand clamped down over his mouth, muffling his cries of terror. The fear center in his brain began firing and his fight or fight responses kicked in. He chose fight and elbowed his assailant as hard as he could in the ribs.

     ‘Ah, fffuck!’ he heard a voice curse and instantly regretted his reactions.

     ‘Oh shit, I’m sorry,’ he stuttered, turning round to find Punk wincing as he clutched his side. ‘I didn’t-‘

     ‘Not the time!’ Punk hissed. ‘We need to get out of-‘

     ‘Punk, these people are-‘ Colt started.

     ‘I know!’ Punk interrupted and Colt could see how pale his face was while his hazel eyes were wide with fear. ‘That’s why we gotta go. Come on.’ Punk yanked Colt away by his upper arm and the two men dashed through the shadows, winding their way between the outbuildings. The night was eerily quiet which put Colt on edge. There were at least two known cannibals scouring the compound for them yet they left little clue as to where they were. Punk and Colt felt like rabbits caught in a maze, waiting to turn a corner and find a rabid dog waiting to tear them apart.

     ‘Where’s Finn?’ Colt asked.

     ‘He’s leading those two weirdos away from us,’ Punk explained, keeping his gaze trained ahead of him.

     ‘What?’ Colt gasped. ‘You’re fucking kidding me! You don’t know what those men are-‘

     ‘I do and so does Finn,’ Punk shot back. He was in no mood to argue right now. ‘He’s keeping them away so that we can crack these gates open and get out of this fucking place. If we don’t, we’re trapped in here and we’re dead.’

     ‘What if they catch him? Colt asked his voice full of terror.

     ‘He promised me they wouldn’t even see him,’ Punk said, finally turning to Colt and trying to calm him down. ‘And you know what he’s like when he makes promises.’

     ‘Yeah, yeah, I know,’ Colt whispered.

     ‘He’ll be right behind us. Now, focus. If we don’t get these gates open, none of us are getting out of here alive,’ Punk stated and Colt nodded, pushing down his fear and concentrating on the task in hand. Seeing his friend relax slightly, Punk patted him reassuringly on the shoulder and turned back to lead the way. He went to turn the corner around a building, knowing it lead straight to the gates, when he stopped dead in his tracks.

     ‘Sssshit,’ he swore as he slammed his back against the wall of the shed and ducked down. Colt followed suite.

     ‘What is it?’ he asked in alarm.

     ‘There’s another one,’ Punk told him. ‘Heading right for us.’

     He peeked around the corner and eyed the strange man. He was tall and built like the side of a house, sporting a wiry mop of black hair and a matching beard. He wore a soiled white vest and filthy jeans. Punk could see that the huge man had not spotted them yet but a few more steps would reveal their hiding place. They couldn’t go back, which meant that they only had one option; take out the man blocking their way to the gate.

     ‘Here,’ Punk whispered, passing Colt the bolt cutters. Colt accepted the heavy shears and gripped them in his sweaty hands while Punk slowly removed his lead pipe from his belt. ‘On my mark, we take him out.’ Both men poised themselves, staying still and silent, waiting for the right time to strike. Each step brought the large, hairy man ever closer.

     A sound rattled above them. Punk saw a stone strike the black haired man on the head and he grunted as he looked up. Punk followed his gaze and cussed under his breath as he clearly made out Finn on the roof of the outbuilding.

     ‘Hey, ugly, over here,’ Finn jeered and dashed away in the opposite direction. The strange man made a guttural growl before chasing after the Irishman. Punk watched as he ran away back down the path and as soon as he disappeared from sight, he shot up from their hiding place. It was no use though as both men had vanished into thin air.

     ‘Stupid son of a bitch,’ Punk muttered as he ran up to the rusty gates.

     ‘That was Finn wasn’t it?’ Colt asked.

     ‘You think?’ Punk seethed. ‘He _promised_ me he wouldn’t let any of them see him.’

     ‘Chill out,’ Colt scolded his friend. ‘If he hadn’t turned up, we would have had to fight that guy.’

     ‘I know,’ Punk spat. ‘Come on, let’s cut this chain.’

     The rusted metal chain did little to resist the bolt cutters and fell away. Both Punk and Colt grabbed one side of the old gates and pulled with all their might. It took a lot of persuasion and brute strength but finally the gates opened enough to allow them to slip out. At last, they were on the other side of the fence that had boxed them in all day and Punk turned around, hoping to find any sign of Finn. He couldn’t see anything and the compound had gone quiet again, giving him that bad feeling in his gut once more. He was startled back to reality by Colt grabbing his arm.

     ‘He’ll be fine,’ Colt said. ‘Let’s go.’

 

     They had sprinted solidly for almost ten minutes and their bodies could handle the pressure no longer. They both stopped and Colt collapsed onto his hands and knees. Punk doubled over, resting his palms on his thighs as his chest heaved with each desperate breath. He wiped the sweat from his brow and straightened up again, looking back the way they had just come. He could see nothing through the heavy black of the night but he craned his ears for any sound.

     ‘Punk… I…’ Colt stammered on the ground. Punk turned to look at him.

     ‘You ok, buddy?’ Punk asked.

     ‘No…. I… I tasted it,’ Colt forced out and Punk shook his head.

     ‘You tasted what?’ he asked, frustrated. ‘What are you saying?’

     ‘There was… a soup… on the… stove and I…. I didn’t know and-‘ Colt never finished his sentence as he threw up violently. Punk winced and walked over to his friend but Colt put his arm out telling him to stay back. Punk watched on helplessly as Colt continued to throw up, his body shaking uncontrollably. He had no idea what Colt had seen but after what he had witnessed in the slaughterhouse, he could guess why Colt was reacting this way and it churned his stomach too.

     He forced himself to look away from his best friend writhing on the ground and turned back, seeking out any sign of Finn. The night remained still and quiet.

     ‘Come on, come on,’ Punk muttered to himself.

     A quarter of an hour passed and Colt, after several dry heaves, recovered enough to sit back against a tree stump and join Punk in looking out for Finn.

     ‘It’s been way too long,’ Punk said, pacing back and forth.

     ‘Give him some more time,’ Colt rasped out.

     ‘He’s faster than both of us,’ Punk pointed out. ‘He should have been here long before now.’

     ‘Maybe he took a wrong turn or something? He’ll find us.’

     ‘I wish he’d hurry the fuck up. We need to get as far away from this fucking place as we can.’

     ‘Seconded,’ Colt said. ‘Give him a few more minutes.’

     They waited on bated breath as time ticked by. Finally, Colt turned to Punk.

     ‘Ok, something’s wrong,’ he finally admitted.

     ‘I’m going back for him,’ Punk said and shrugged off his pack.

     ‘That’s not a good idea’ Colt stated.

     ‘He’d do the same for us,’ Punk argued.

     ‘Wait up, I’ll go with you,’ Colt said, trying to get to his feet.

     ‘No, stay here in case he turns up,’ Punk said, pushing Colt back down. ‘I’ll be more conspicuous on my own.’ He saw the uncertainty in Colt’s face. ‘I’ll be careful, I promise.’

     ‘Make damn sure of it,’ Colt said and Punk nodded before heading away into the gloom.

     He jogged back at a slow, steady pace, trying to keep himself hidden while also scanning the surrounding terrain for any sign of Finn. Each step took him closer and closer to the compound, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He was starting to get uncomfortably close to the farm and all of his senses were on high alert for any sound.

     He froze in his tracks on hearing something stir to his right and he ducked down just in time to see the large, black-haired man stomping through the undergrowth about twenty feet away. He concealed himself in the shadows as best he could, his heart threatening to jump into his mouth on seeing the dead-eyed creature thrash its way through the woods, clearly looking for something, or someone. It gave Punk a little hope that Finn was still on the loose and possibly nearby.

     The behemoth stalked away and disappeared from sight so Punk softly left his hiding place and jogged in the opposite direction. He only made a few strides before something wrapped itself around his ankle and he plummeted towards the ground, landing on his front. He spun onto his back, knee coiled up and ready to thrust his foot into whatever had grabbed him.

     ‘It’s me, it’s me,’ Finn whispered and Punk lowered his leg.

     ‘What you doing down there?’ Punk asked crawling over to Finn who was lying flat on his belly, hiding as best he could beside a fallen tree trunk.

     ‘I heard someone near by and thought it was one of them,’ Finn explained, not moving from his spot.

     ‘That guy in the wife-beater is not far away,’ Punk told him. ‘We need to get out of here.’

     ‘I can’t,’ Finn sighed and Punk’s eyebrows knitted together.

     ‘What do you mean you can’t?’

     ‘I’m stuck,’ Finn said and he looked down towards his feet. Punk followed his gaze but couldn’t make out what he was referring to in the dark. He could, however, hear the soft clink of a chain. ‘It’s some kind of bear trap. I didn’t see it and ran straight into it.’

     ‘Where’s the flashlight?’ Punk asked and Finn sighed in frustration.

     ‘Don’t be stupid, they’ll see us,’ Finn scolded him. ‘Just go, get out of here and take Colt with you. I’ll be fine.’

     ‘Fuck that!’ Punk hissed. ‘I’m not having you end up on one of their fucking hooks. Now give me the goddamn flashlight!’

     Finn reluctantly handed the torch over to Punk who kneeled down beside the younger man’s feet. He exhaled slowly, readying himself for what he was about to do. He clicked the torch on and switched it off just as quickly. The flash was fleeting but enough to make out the damage and it was worse that Punk thought.

     The bear trap was a large and vicious with two rows of jagged teeth. It was snagged around Finn’s lower leg, its fangs dug deep into his flesh, which was now flowing with blood. The trap was attached to a short chain, which was jammed into the ground, pinning its victim in place. It was clear that the snare had been set by the strange men on the compound as a way to capture unsuspecting passers-by. And if there was one, there was bound to be more littering the ground around them.

     A rustle sounded in the night, not far from where Punk and Finn were hiding and both men crouched low to the ground and stayed as still as statues. It proved to be nothing but it reminded them of how much danger they were in.

     ‘You have to go,’ Finn muttered.

     ‘Shut the fuck up,’ Punk shot back and felt around in the dark for the bear trap. His hands found the toothy maw of the snare and wrapped his fingers around each jaw. He tried to pull the mouth of the trap apart to free Finn but the contraption was weather-beaten and refused to budge.

     ‘I’ve already tried that,’ Finn explained. ‘The spring has completely rusted in place. It had enough pressure to snap shut but it won’t open again.’

     ‘Shit,’ Punk cursed as he released his hold on the trap, wiping his hands on his jeans, feeling them cut up by the rust and wet with blood. An idea popped into his head and he grabbed his lead pipe. He tried to jam the end of his pipe between the jaws but let out a grunt of frustration as they refused to ease their way between the bear trap’s teeth.

     ‘Too big?’ Finn sighed.

     ‘Only just,’ Punk growled, nibbling furiously on his lip ring.

     ‘We could cut the chain?’

     ‘I left the bolt cutters with Colt,’ Punk said, mentally kicking himself. ‘We don’t have enough time to go back and get them.’

     ‘You could just leave-‘

     ‘Not an option so stop suggesting it,’ Punk snapped and Finn went silent. Punk felt around in the dark once more and followed the chain of the trap to where it met the soil and he frantically began to dig down into the Earth.

     ‘Punk, these things are built to trap bears,’ Finn pointed out, ‘you’ll never dig it out in time.’

     ‘Then what do we do?’ Punk asked and Finn could hear the desperation in his voice. The Irishman bowed his head; he was dreading what he was about to say.

   ‘I’ve still got that hacksaw that I took from the workshop,’ he said softly. Punk looked at him confused for a second.

     ‘That puny thing wouldn’t even dent the chain,’ he said.

     ‘I wouldn’t use it on the chain.’

     ‘Then what are you suggesting?’

     ‘I could use it to…’ Finn bit his lip and Punk could hear his teeth grinding together.

     ‘No,’ Punk said sternly. ‘Absolutely not.’

     ‘It would cut me free,’ Finn said, looking at Punk and the Chicago native was amazed to see no fear in the younger man’s eyes.

     ‘Finn,’ Punk sighed. ‘I nearly died from one little bite. You cut off your foot and you’re signing your own death warrant.’

     ‘Better dying that way than to be butchered like a stuck pig,’ Finn said with a bitter tone in his voice.

     ‘It’s really not,’ Punk stated. ‘Believe me, I’ve been there. Even if we’re able to stop you from bleeding to death, it will be a long, slow and fucking painful way to go. I can’t allow you to put yourself through that.’

     ‘Then there is only one other way I can see this going,’ Finn sighed as he reached into his pack and pulled something shiny out.

     ‘What are you doing?’ Punk asked, feeling anxious.

     ‘I’ll go out on my own terms,’ he said, cradling his Beretta 92F in his palms.

     ‘I thought you gave that to the Young Bucks,’ Punk said, feeling tension rising up his spine.

     ‘No,’ Finn said simply. ‘Only one bullet left. I was saving it.’

     ‘For what?’

     ‘For a moment like this,’ Finn said, finally tearing his eyes away from the gun to look at Punk. ‘Where there is no other possible way out.’ He raised the gun to rest it under his chin.

     With whip-like speed, Punk reached out and grabbed the gun, forcing it away from the younger man’s head.

     ‘Let go, Punk,’ Finn said, trying to use his strength to pull the gun up again but Punk’s grip held firm.

     ‘Over my dead body,’ Punk hissed and his grip began to overpower that of Finn’s.

   ‘Why are you doing this?’ Finn said, and finally Punk saw the fear creep into his features. ‘Why won’t you just leave me to die?’

     ‘Because I don’t just give up on people,’ Punk said firmly. They stared each other down for a few, intense seconds before Finn finally let out a long sigh and released his grip on the gun. Punk immediately grabbed the weapon and took out the remaining bullet, tossing it away into the woods, while Finn held his face in his hands.

     ‘You had this the whole time?’ Punk asked, raising the now empty firearm.

     ‘Yeah,’ Finn confessed.

     ‘You’re a fucking idiot,’ Punk muttered under his breath and sat up on his knees. He scanned the area around him and finding what he was looking for, he went a few steps away.

     ‘I was never ever going to use it against you or Colt,’ Finn said, desperately.

     ‘Yeah, I know that,’ Punk shot back over his shoulder. ‘That’s not why you’re an idiot.’

     ‘What are you doing?’ Finn asked, seeing Punk rest his lead pipe against a flat rock, the other hand gripping the gun around its barrel.

     ‘This is gonna get loud,’ Punk warned. ‘It’s probably gonna bring all three murderous nutjobs down on us.’ He turned to look at Finn. ‘I need you to be ready to run as fast as you can.’

     Finn nodded his head solemnly. ‘You have my word.’

     ‘That’s all I needed to hear.’ He raised the gun high and brought the heavy butt down onto the edge of his pipe. The twang of metal hitting metal rang out around them and both men cringed, knowing that their hiding place had been revealed to their enemies. Punk pressed on, however, thrashing the butt of the gun against the pipe over and over. He worked frantically, knowing that their time was swiftly running out.

     ‘They’re coming!’ Finn shouted and both men heard the sound of heavy footsteps rushing towards them.

     ‘Done!’ Punk yelled, running over with his pipe. He had flattened the end enough to fit it between the rusted jaws of the trap. He jammed it between the contraption’s fangs and raised his knee high before stamping down on the end of the pipe. With a great clatter, the weather-beaten trap smashed to pieces and Finn was finally free. He barely had time to register the victory as Punk grabbed his arm and pulled it around his shoulders, forcing him to his feet.

     ‘Run, for fuck’s sake, _run_!’ Punk hissed in his ear and the younger man didn’t need to be told twice. Even though pain was screaming through his lower leg, he began to sprint, using Punk for support. Both men hurtled into the shadows, not daring to look back once.


	31. Anomaly

     Their escape had been a narrow one with both Punk and Colt supporting Finn as they tore through the woods and away from the compound. They could hear their assailants chasing them through the gloom, which pushed them on even more. Eventually, the footsteps following them halted and the sound of manic laughter sounded behind them, fading into the distance as they finally eluded their hunters. Even when everything around them went silent again, they ran on, wanting to get as far away from the camp of horrors as possible.

     They only stopped when they physically couldn’t stand any more and all three men collapsed onto the hard soil, desperately trying to catch their breath again. Punk was spent as he lay on his back, his chest heaving manically, but he was in a far better shape than the other two. He looked over to his companions and saw Finn lying next to him, his face as pale as a sheet, almost on the brink of unconsciousness. Punk lifted a hand as heavy as lead and jabbed Finn in the side.

     ‘No sleeping,’ he warned the younger man. ‘We’re not in the clear yet.’

     ‘Ok,’ Finn replied and forced his drooping eyelids back open.

     ‘That’s it,’ Punk said as he hauled himself into a sitting position and patted Finn on the shoulder. ‘Keep that up, just a bit longer. I promise.’

     Finn didn’t reply; he was too exhausted but he did as he was told and kept his weary eyes open.

     ‘Colt?’ Punk called out.

     ‘Right here,’ Colt said raising his hand up and Punk saw him flat out on the other side of Finn.

     ‘You feeling better?’

     ‘Now we’re out of that fucking place? Yeah!’ Colt replied.

     ‘Good,’ Punk continued panting as he gauged their surroundings. The darkness was starting to lift as morning set in but what little light filtered in through the grey clouds above barely reached the thick woods surrounding them. Punk noticed a branch hanging low above his head and reached up to grab it, letting out a groan as he heaved his drained body to his feet.

     ‘Where you going?’ Colt asked as he feebly tried to lift his head.

     ‘I’m trying to get my bearings,’ he replied, scanning around him. ‘See which way we have to go next.’

     ‘Punk, I can’t take another step,’ Colt rasped out. ‘Finn’s almost out. Can’t we just rest here for a while?’

     ‘I don’t feel comfortable here,’ Punk argued. ‘We’re only a couple of hours away from those creeps. Now that daylight’s up, they might decide to come after us again.’

     ‘We don’t have to stay long,’ Colt debated. ‘Just a half hour or so, enough time to eat and see to Finn.’

     Punk knitted his eyebrows in concentration and scanned the area again. It was reasonably sheltered among the trees and without anything else suitable within range, he reluctantly agreed. ‘Fine,’ he sighed, ‘a half hour, tops.’

     Colt lay on the ground for a few more minutes before heaving himself up onto his feet. He beckoned for Punk to give him a hand and together, they helped Finn up and sat him against a tree trunk. The younger man’s body was as limp as a ragdoll; he had clearly lost a fair amount of blood and was in considerable pain. Punk and Colt had never seen him so weak - even when he had been beaten half to death - telling them that this was serious.

     ‘Here, eat it,’ Punk said, stuffing a candy bar, that they had found on a previous raid, into his hand. ‘It should restore some of your blood sugars… or something, I don’t know.’

     Finn took the bar and obediently began nibbling on it while Colt removed the sneaker from Finn’s right foot. Already his fingers were turning red with Finn’s blood as he rolled up the leg of his jeans, revealing the gruesome injury underneath.

     ‘What happened?’ he muttered to Punk on seeing the tattered flesh around Finn’s lower leg. Even Punk had to admit, it looked far worse than he had initially thought. Some of the lacerations were so deep he could see the bone.

     ‘Bear trap,’ he replied, eyeing the wound with concern. ‘It was rusty too so you’d best sterilise the hell out of it.’

     ‘I will,’ Colt assured him. ‘After last time, I’ll take every precaution.’ He looked back at the wound and winced. ‘Punk, bear traps are powerful as hell. What if he’s broken something?’

     Punk pursed his lips and rubbed a hand through his scruffy hair, letting out a long breath through his nose. He had no answer to give.

     He felt something nudge him and looked down to see Finn handing him the empty candy bar wrapper. He looked so weak and pathetic that Punk felt a huge pang of guilt. He should have stuck to his guns and insisted that nobody entered that god-forsaken compound. He should have refused to allow Finn to act as bait. He should have waited to make sure he was safely with them before taking off. He had to take some responsibility for what had happened to their companion.

     He smiled softly at Finn before taking the wrapper. ‘Sleep,’ he said and the Irishman smiled back weakly. He closed his eyes and was under instantly.

     ‘You sure that’s a good idea?’ Colt asked, nodding at Finn.

     ‘At least he’ll be out while you stitch him up,’ Punk sighed. ‘I’ll leave you to it. If you need me, just holler.’

     Punk walked away and retrieved all three packs from where they had been dumped on the ground. He removed the bolt cutters from Colt’s bag and placed them back in Finn’s where they belonged. They had already proven useful, just like Finn had predicted, and he was sure they would need them again in the future. Opening his own pack, he pulled everything out, revealing the stacks of Canadian dollars at the bottom, wrapped in a thick, plastic bag.

     _Not much longer_ ,’ he thought to himself. _Soon I’ll find you Ape, and I’ll get all of us out, you, Colt, even Finn, if he wants, and I’ll get us out of this fucking nightmare._

     He replaced the contents of his bag, leaving out any articles of food that he found. He then searched both Colt and Finn’s rucksacks for any food and stacked up their rations in front of him. Finn had been right again. There was enough to last another couple of days at most. Punk chewed the inside of his cheek. With Finn badly injured, the going would be slower than before and it would take them longer to reach Tampa. He would have to ration their remaining supplies to make it last the distance.

     He looked up as Colt approached him, looking as worn out and frail as Finn.

     ‘I sterilised the wound, stitched him up and wrapped a bandage around his leg,’ Colt explained. ‘I’ll change the dressing and apply more alcohol to it every day. That’s all I can do for now until all the swelling has gone down.’

     ‘You’ve done a great job, Colt,’ Punk smiled at his friend. ‘Now get some sleep.’

     ‘But…’

     ‘I’m can’t sleep, not after what I saw today,’ Punk explained. ‘I’ll wake you up when it’s time to leave.’

     ‘Sure… thanks,’ Colt said gratefully and walked away to find somewhere comfortable to nap. Punk looked down at their supplies again.

     ‘Nothing’s ever easy,’ he sighed.

 

     Punk let his companions sleep for an hour before reluctantly deciding to wake them up and drive them back on the road. He shook Colt awake first.

     ‘Whuh?’ the former wrestler woke with a start.

     ‘Shhh,’ Punk softly hushed his friend. ‘It’s just me. It’s time we were moving on.’

     ‘Ok,’ Colt said with a heavy sigh. ‘I’ll wake Finn.’

     ‘Not yet,’ Punk said, as he crouched down beside Colt. ‘We need to discuss what we’re gonna do with him?’

     ‘What do you mean?’ Colt asked with alarm in his face.

     Punk looked at his friend, puzzled. ‘His leg’s busted. He can barely walk.’

     ‘So what? You’re just gonna kill him?’

     ‘What the fuck? No!’

     ‘Then what? You’re leaving him behind?’

     ‘I’m not saying that!’

     ‘We’re in this together Punk. We don’t leave anyone behind.’

     ‘I know this already – I’m the guy who went back for him last night! Will you just shut up and let me talk?’ Colt went silent. ‘Ok, just to make sure we’re clear. I’m not gonna kill him or leave him behind. But Tampa is still a day or two away and we need to figure out how to get him there.’

     ‘I’ll help him,’ Colt said without hesitation.

     ‘You said he might have broken his leg?’

     ‘I don’t know that for sure,’ Colt said with his hands up. ‘I’m no doctor.’

     ‘You said it was badly swollen though. That’s not a good sign. Can he move it?’

     ‘I don’t know, he was asleep the whole time I treated him last night.’

     ‘There’s no way he’ll be able to walk to Tampa,’ Punk nibbled on his lip ring.

     ‘So what do we do?’

     ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Punk said. ‘If we find some large branches and use one of our blankets, we could make him some kind of stretcher. You and I could carry him.’

     Colt’s face lit up. ‘That’s do-able.’

     ‘It would be hard going,’ Punk warned his friend. ‘It’s another load to add.’

     ‘I’ll do it,’ Colt said without a second thought.

     ‘I should also probably tell you that we’re really low on food.’

     ‘We’ve starved before,’ Colt said with a shrug. ‘It’s nothing new.’

     Punk couldn’t help but grin and he patted his best friend on the shoulder. ‘I’m glad you’re still here,’ he admitted.

     ‘You know what? Me too.’

     ‘Shall we go find some branches then?’ Punk suggested, holding out a hand to help Colt up.

     ‘No need,’ they froze on hearing a third voice join the conversation. They turned around to see Finn where they had left him, leaning against the tree trunk, only this time he was very much awake. His skin was still a pasty shade of white and his ice blue eyes were rimmed with a soft pink but he had that old determination back in his features.

     ‘Hey, Finn, buddy,’ Colt exclaimed, getting to his feet and walking over to his friend. ‘How you feelin’?’

     ‘Ready to hit the road,’ Finn said with a steely look in his eye. ‘But not on some stretcher like an invalid.’

     ‘You’re hurt,’ Punk pointed out. ‘This isn’t the time for pride.’

     ‘This isn’t about pride,’ Finn shot back. He glanced up briefly and grabbed a low hanging branch with both hands. His gaze returned to Punk’s, unwavering, as he let out a low grunt and pulled his exhausted body upwards. Using his good leg to keep himself steady, he finally forced himself up to a vertical base without showing even a shred of the pain he was feeling. Once he was back on his feet, he nodded at Punk. ‘I can do this,’ he said, his voice almost a growl.

     Punk couldn’t help but grin slightly at his companion’s resolve. He only nodded in return and turned around to retrieve their packs.

     ‘Colt?’ Finn turned to his friend. ‘How are you at making splints?’

     ‘I’ve never done one,’ Colt confessed.

     ‘It’s easy enough, I’ll show you how,’ Finn told him. ‘Once we’re done, we can be on our way.’

 

 

     The three men resumed their journey swiftly. Their supplies were thin on the ground and they needed to cover what ground they could to make sure they reached Tampa before their food ran out. Not to mention, they had cannibalistic hillbillies and brutal mercenaries on their tail. None of them spoke about what they had each witnessed on the compound and they were happy to keep it that way, hoping it would soon be a distant memory.

     Finn put on a brave face and insisted he needed no help as they journeyed, instead relying on a fallen branch for support. To his credit, he did manage to walk most of the day on his own but when his leg became too painful and his body worn out from the extra work, either Punk or Colt would walk beside him with his arm around their shoulder to shift the weight off his injury.

     At first, Punk was pleasantly surprised at the progress they made but with each passing day, Finn became worse and worse and their going became slower and slower. Soon, they were barely making any ground at all, even when both Punk and Colt helped their wounded friend along, and frustration began to set in.

     ‘It has to be infected!’ Punk blurted out one day as they stopped again to allow Finn to rest.

     ‘It’s not, it’s fine,’ Colt argued. ‘I’ve been sterilising it and changing the bandage twice a day.’

     ‘Then what’s wrong with him?’ Punk shot back.

     ‘He needs rest,’ Colt responded. ‘And not a couple of hours here and there, proper rest, and that’s something we can’t give him right now.’

     Finn watched on, feeling wretched as the two men bickered. He felt as if he was a burden for his companions and the guilt was weighing heavily on him.

     ‘I keep telling you, if you just leave me-‘

     ‘Shut up, Finn!’ both men yelled at him.

     ‘I’m just saying-‘

     ‘Look,’ Punk turned to the younger man, ‘we didn’t go to all that trouble saving your life multiple times just to leave you behind to die in the woods. It’s not happening, alright? So just drop it, or I swear, I’ll break your other leg.’

     Finn let out a small chuckle. ‘You always have such a way with words.’

     On the fourth day, their supplies ran out.

     They journeyed on, placing one foot in front of the other, while their stomachs churned and their energy depleted. Each day, Punk looked at the map and promised it would be only one more day. Yet the day came and went with no end in sight. Punk would say again that night, one more day, and the following night, and the following.

     Three days came and went and the group began to feel the effects of starvation. They were light headed and weak, craving anything even remotely edible that they saw. Punk once woke on hearing a strange crunching noise and found Colt nibbling on a piece of tree bark. Colt said he was pretending that it was beef jerky.

     On the seventh day, their water ran out. Rain had been scarce and they had not come across any rivers or lakes to replenish their bottles. Panic began to set in for the group. To travel great distances without food was difficult but it was attainable, however, they had no hope of survival without water. To compensate, Punk pushed the group harder each day, forcing Finn to walk even when he was past the brink of exhaustion. The Irishman never complained once but Colt could see the blood on Finn’s lips where he had bitten hard to try and staunch his cries of pain, he could see the way his head dropped signalling that he had lost consciousness for a second before snapping it back up again. He could feel how hot and clammy his skin was and hear how laboured his breathing became. It brought back memories of when Punk became sick and the same feeling of alarm burned in his belly. He knew Finn’s wound wasn’t infected (he had been keeping it clean and fresh so much that it bordered on obsession) but he could see the younger man was failing yet Punk kept driving him on day after day with little rest, no food and now, no water.

     Conflict was inevitable and on the seventh night, when the group was forced to stop for a rest, everything came to a head.

     ‘You can’t keep doing this,’ Colt yelled at Punk. ‘Finn needs a break.’

     ‘We can’t afford to stop for long, Colt,’ Punk argued. ‘We don’t have anything. No food! No water! If we stop, we’re all dead.’

   ‘If we keep going on like this, then _he’s_ dead,’ Colt said, motioning to Finn.

     ‘Lads-,’ Finn tried to interject but he was spoken over by the other two.

     ‘I’m trying to save his life,’ Punk shot back. ‘The sooner we get to Tampa, the sooner we’ll find supplies and he can rest all he wants.’

     ‘And when exactly will that be, huh?’ Colt asked.

     ‘One more day,’ Punk replied.

     ‘You’ve said ‘one more day’ every day for a week!’

     ‘One more day and we’ll get there,’ Punk promised, holding up the map. ‘We’re so fucking close.’

     ‘Let me see it,’ Colt said, holding out his hand.

     ‘Colt…’ Punk sighed, as his shoulders dropped and he threw his head back, rolling his eyes.

     ‘Let me see the goddamn map,’ Colt said and made a grab for the folded piece of paper.

     ‘Back off,’ Punk said, swiping it out of his friend’s reach but Colt clawed at it again and managed to grip the edge.

     ‘I want to see how far this fucking place is,’ Colt snarled as the two men tussled over the map.

   ‘Stop it, Colt!’ Punk yelled.

     ‘Guys… _guys!_ ’ Finn warned but it was too late and the fragile paper ripped in two.

     ‘You fucking asshole,’ Punk roared at his friend, throwing the torn map at Colt’s chest.

     ‘ _I’m_ the asshole?’ Colt shot back. ‘ _You’re_ the fucking asshole.’

     ‘Colt! Punk!’ Finn tried to butt in to no avail. Punk lunged for Colt and the two men fell to the ground. Finn watched the pair wrestle on the floor hoping it would help to release the tension but when he saw how brutal the blows the two men traded were, he knew he had to break it up. He could barely move so he tried to make the two stop by yelling at them but they were so engrossed in their bout that they completely ignored him. Seeing this was leading nowhere, he struggled to his feet, grunting with agony as his leg sagged beneath him. He gritted his teeth and taking one long stride on his good leg, fell onto the two men. He was worn out and unable to walk, but he was still strong and he managed to wedge himself between the two, finally forcing them apart.

     ‘Get a hold of yerselves!’ he bellowed as he separated the two men. He had Colt pinned behind him while he held Punk at arm’s length. Both of the Chicago men were struggling, trying to finish off what they started. Punk swiped a right arm, aiming for Colt’s battered nose but Finn caught his wrist mid-blow.

     ‘PUNK!’ he yelled out in frustration and the former wrestler finally looked at him. His left cheek was pouring with blood for a deep gash just below his eye. Finn couldn’t see the state of Colt’s face but he knew he was bloodied too. ‘You’re a smart man,’ Finn said to Punk in a calm voice. ‘You know what Colt’s like and you know that when he gets scared, he says stupid stuff to get under your skin. You _know_ he doesn’t mean what he’s saying so why the hell are you rising to it.’

     He saw Punk hesitate, a part of him desperately wanting to hit his friend in the face one more time but eventually Punk nodded his understanding silently and lowered his arm.

   ‘That’s a good boy,’ Colt said mockingly over Finn’s shoulder and the Irishman turned around, silencing the former wrestler with one ice-cold glare.

     ‘But that doesn’t excuse you, either. You’re the one saying these stupid things and you went and tore the map.’

   Colt sighed, feeling incredibly guilty. ‘But even you have to admit, Punk’s been taking things too far recently, I mean, look at what he’s putting you through.’

     ‘Colt, I’m grateful that you felt the need to stick up for me, I am. But if I had a problem, do you really think I would hold my tongue?’ Colt bowed his head. ‘I’ve kept my mouth shut these past few days because Punk’s right. Once our water ran out, our days became numbered. We have to keep pushing on because the sooner we reach Tampa, the more likely we are to find supplies or help. I’ve never been so worn out in my entire life and I’ll admit, there’s been times I’ve just wanted to hack my fucking leg off, just to stop the pain.’ Both men in his grasp sighed with guilt. ‘But I stop feeling sorry for myself, pick myself up and carry on. Because that’s what brothers do. We fight sometimes but we make up and we band together.’

     ‘You’re right,’ Punk groaned and looked over to Colt. ‘I’m sorry.’ He raised his hand and Colt eagerly accepted, shaking it enthusiastically.

     ‘I’m sorry too,’ he replied.

     ‘Good, can I let you both go now?’ Finn asked and both men nodded. He released his grasp on them and all three men sat up, facing each other in a circle. ‘I’m surprised it took you so long,’ Finn admitted.

     ‘To what? Make up?’ asked Colt.

     ‘No, to come to blows,’ Finn informed them. ‘There’s been residual tension between you two since I asked Colt to join the Bullet Club. It was bound to come out eventually.’

     ‘I guess you’re right,’ Punk confessed. ‘I still feel angry at you for leaving me to go it alone.’

     ‘I still resent you for not respecting my decision,’ Colt owned up.

     ‘It’s all behind us now,’ Finn told the pair. ‘You blew off some steam and from the look of you, you both got in some good licks each. Feel better now?’

     Punk and Colt looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. ‘A little,’ they said in unison.

     ‘Good,’ Finn said. ‘Now, the two of you, get some sleep. I appreciate you both taking turns to keep watch these past few nights to help me rest, but honestly, you both need to rest too, so I’m taking watch tonight. Go to bed.’

     Neither man argued seeing as they were both exhausted. They fetched a blanket each and snuggled down for the night.

     ‘I really hate it when he does that,’ Punk whispered to Colt.

     ‘Does what?’ Colt asked.

     ‘Wins the fucking argument,’ Punk responded.

     ‘You’ll learn,’ Finn said, having overheard the pair. ‘ Don’t bring a knife to a gun fight.’

 

     Punk woke up with a start and found to his horror that he couldn’t move his body. His limps felt heavy and numb. Even lifting his head took great effort. He tried to blink the grogginess from his eyes to little avail. The room around him was dark and foreboding. He could smell wood, rotten hay and the iron tang of the slaughterhouse and he knew that it was right behind him, hidden behind its secret door. He could hear the clinking of metal hooks dangling from chains.

     A flame licked into life in front of him and he watched as it sparked up an oil lamp that seemed to hang in mid air. An unseen breath extinguished the smaller flame, the smoke rising in the air like a ghost and, slowly, the light picked out a bearded face grinning at him through the darkness. He recognised the man in the Hawaiian shirt that he presumed to be the leader of the cannibalistic gang.

     ‘Little sparrow,’ he teased, his voice as sweet as mouldy honey. ‘You are a masterpiece. My finest work yet.’ He held up a leather bound book and Punk noted the etchings carved into the brown binding. A red koi, four aces and a couple of dice.

     He looked down at his body, now visible in the oil lamp’s glare. He was shirtless and his wrists and ankles were strapped down to a chair. His bindings served only to hold him in place since his entire body felt paralysed, telling him that he had been drugged.

     He found what he had been looking for. His left arm, once a bright and colourful patchwork, was now a mass of blood from wrist to shoulder. His skin had been carved away leaving raw flesh and muscle exposed. He was mildly surprised to find himself not remotely alarmed by the injury. His right arm would be next, then his legs, or his chest until all the art he had amassed in his lifetime, every drawing that symbolised a portion of his life or of his very being, would be torn away and made into empty, hollow trinkets.

     ‘You’re time will come,’ the man cooed and Punk used every ounce of energy he had to look at his capturer. ‘Your blood will quench Abigail’s thirst and your meat will sustain us. In time. For now, your friend will suffice.’

     Punk felt unseen hands grip the back of his chair and slowly he was hauled around to face the slaughterhouse. He wanted to close his eyes but they refused to heed his instructions. He knew what he would see and he was scared. Panic flooded his body as the smell became stronger and invaded his nostrils.

     The doors pulled open, revealing the limp body, swaying lifelessly from the hook pierced through its foot.

     ‘I must admit, it’s the sweetest flesh I have ever tasted on my lips,’ the man chuckled softly in Punk’s ear.

     He recognised every feature, every facet of the delicate cadaver but all he could see was April’s cold, dead eyes transfixed on his own. He began to scream.

 

     Punk bolted upright and found that he was still screaming.

     Finn jumped with fright. ‘Jesus, Punk, what’s wrong?’ he asked but Punk acted as if he didn’t even hear him. In fact, it looked as if he hadn’t fully woken, still trapped in his terrible nightmare. His eyes were large and filled with terror as he frantically searched around him.

     ‘APRIL!’ he cried out, jumping to his feet. ‘APE!’ He took off, tearing away through the woods.

     ‘Oh, great, just great,’ Finn cursed and pulled himself up to his good foot. ‘Colt, Colt, wake up!’

     Punk ran blindly through the woods. Everything was still dark and he could barely see through the gloom. Sweat smothered his body, his terror turning the beads of moisture ice cold as they ran down his clammy skin. He kept running, screaming out her name, a feeling of burning agony tearing through his gut. Everything went blurry and he realised he was crying, thick tears escaping his eyes and streaming down his cheek.

   _I’m too late_ he thought to himself, _I’m too late to save her._

     The grey branches of the trees reached out around him like the fingers of corpses and snagged the fabric of his hoodie. He struggled against their grasp. He couldn’t afford to stop. He had to find her. Frantically, he unzipped his jacket and brushed it off his shoulders, sacrificing it in return for his freedom. He kept running.

     The darkness closed in around him, smothering him, choking him like large plumes of smoke in a small, claustrophobic room. He felt the fire lick up his left arm burning the exposed flesh. He stared ahead, frantically looking for a way out as his lungs began to struggle. He coughed, rubbing the sting from his eyes when he saw it. The window, half boarded up. He sprinted towards it and covered his face with his hands as he threw his entire weight against it.

     Warmth struck him and suddenly, the darkness was gone. Punk stood trembling for a few seconds, his face still covered with his arms, afraid of what lurked before him. Slowly, he lowered his hands and the sight before him took his breath away.

     A few minutes later, he heard Colt and Finn come stumbling out of the woods behind him. He ignored them and remained standing as still as a statue, his hand absentmindedly rubbing up and down his left arm, reassuring himself that the skin was still intact. He felt Finn by his side, staring into the distance and knew that he had spotted the anomaly too. Colt, however, was more concerned with his friend.

     ‘Hey, Punkers,’ he said in a soft, comforting tone. ‘You alright, buddy?’ He tried to pass Punk his hoodie back but Punk pushed his hand away and raised his own tattooed digits and pointed at the wondrous sight before him. Colt followed Punk’s finger with his eyes and a smile sprang onto his face.

     ‘Hey, it’s Tampa,’ Colt cheered. ‘I can’t believe we made-‘. Punk gripped Colt’s chin and forced it upwards. Finally, his friend spotted it and his jaw fell open. ‘Holy shit. That’s not-. It can’t be. It’s… it’s…’

     ‘It’s the sun,’ Punk said in wonder.


	32. The School of Hard Knocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone - 'Lang may yer lum reek'!  
> Now that the festivities are over, it's back to updating as normal and this one is a looooooong chapter. That's because we have a whole new community of characters to introduce and a plethora of future plot points to set up before we dive head-long into our final arc. It's nice to have a breather before all the drama inevitably starts up again, and oh boy, do we have drama aplenty coming your way.   
> I love hearing what you all think so please feel free to write a little comment or click the kudos and subscribe button and to those who already have, thank you so much!!!

     The three men walked the last remaining miles to Tampa under the watchful gaze of the burning sun. They were unsure how they felt about the long lost presence in the sky. For Punk, it was a welcoming sight and he basked in its glow, forgetting for the first time about his hunger, his pain and even his unyielding thirst. However, he had only missed the sun for a few months while Colt and Finn had been trapped under the oppression of grey clouds for over a year and a half and had to admit, the strange anomaly scared them. They kept their heads bowed and their eyes shaded as they walked.

     The trio entered the city in silence, Finn being supported on either side by both Punk and Colt. They took in their surroundings and Punk was relieved to find the rumours about Tampa had been true. The city was almost completely untouched, even by the clouds themselves. There was no ash or dust lining the roads, no fire damage on the walls and even the tallest buildings were still standing proud. It was a far cry from the destruction he had witnessed in his own beloved Chicago.

     Despite this, it was clear that the city had long been abandoned; the residents having left to find refuge elsewhere. As they edged their way further in, they could see no sign of life or movement in the quiet streets. It made them all shiver.

     All of a sudden, Finn’s shoulders began to tense and his head whipped up, his gaze fixed on a building to their right. ‘Someone’s watching us,’ he said.

     ‘Where?’ Punk asked, releasing his hold on Finn, who shifted his weight over to Colt.

     ‘Fifth floor but they’ve moved. They’re making their way towards us now. They move just like that guy with the bad bleach job.’

     ‘Rollins,’ Colt hissed.

     ‘You two get going. I’ll deal with him,’ Punk ordered.

     ‘Are you insane?’ Colt yelled out. ‘You’re in no state to fight Seth Rollins, you can barely stand!’

     ‘I don’t need to fight him, I just need to distract him long enough so you can both get away,’ Punk said.

     ‘Forget it. We’re staying with you. We’ll face him together.’ Colt stood to Punk’s left while Finn defiantly hobbled to his right. Side-by-side, the three exhausted, starving men stood tall, waiting for their fate to finally come.

     The figure appeared almost out of nowhere, jumping smoothly down from a fire escape, executing a perfect landing on the hard concrete. Finn coiled back, ready to dash towards the stranger but Punk rested a hand across his chest, silently telling him to hold back. Punk took the lead and slowly walked towards the waiting figure, In return, it stood up straight and took a step towards him, opening their arms wide. Punk fell into their embrace and the two exchanged a warm hug.

     ‘You have no idea how good it is to see you,’ Punk sighed, resting his chin on the woman’s shoulder as he held her tight.

     ‘It’s good to see you too, handsome’ Luci replied.

     ‘How did you know we were here?’ Punk asked.

     ‘I’ve been keeping a look out for you since I arrived,’ she explained. ‘What the hell took you so long?’

     ‘It’s a long fucking story,’ Punk sighed, finally pulling away from the blonde woman.

     ‘And I can’t wait to hear it later,’ she grinned, watching as Punk’s companions came closer. ‘Scotty,’ she smiled, pulling Colt into a hug next.

     ‘Lulu,’ Colt teased back. ‘Can’t believe I actually kind of missed you.’

     ‘Awww, Scottyyy!’ Luci joked, pinching Colt’s cheek. ‘Thank you.’

     ‘You miss me?’ Colt asked.

     ‘No,’ Luci said without hesitation.

     ‘Gee thanks,’ Colt said, acting hurt.

     ‘And who’s this?’ Luci asked, turning to Finn who still looked a little tense.

     ‘Finn Bálor,’ he told her, holding out his hand.

     ‘Oh wow, he’s a pretty one,’ Luci said to Punk and Colt. She promptly ignored his outstretched hand and pulled him into a tight hug. ‘Holy shit and he’s rock solid.’ She pulled back and before Finn could even react, she had yanked up the bottom of his shirt. ‘WOW! Look at those fucking things!’ she yelled out, admiring his chiseled abs while Punk and Colt looked on, unimpressed.

     ‘They’re not that great,’ Colt muttered under his breath.

     ‘Fuck me,’ Luci said with a deadly serious expression, looking straight into Finn’s eyes.

     ‘Ummm…’ Finn stammered, unsure how to reply. He let out a nervous chuckle, thinking it was all a joke.

     ‘No, I’m serious, fuck me,’ Luci said in the exact same tone and Finn began to sweat.

     ‘Hey! I thought I was the one you got all weird and obsessive over,’ Punk argued, holding out his arms.

     ‘Now don’t worry sweetie, I can handle both of you,’ Luci said with a devilish grin and licked her lips.

     ‘Ok now you’re just scaring the poor kid,’ Punk said, taking her arm and leading her away. Finn visibly relaxed as the strange woman turned away but froze again on seeing her look over her shoulder and lock eyes with him for a second. He suddenly felt like a mouse being eyed up by a hungry cat.

     ‘You know, you’re even cuter when you’re jealous, Punk,’ Luci said with a smirk.

     ‘Hah! Keep dreamin’,’ Punk replied.

     ‘You changed your mind about this Tampa girl yet?’

     ‘Why? Have you found her?’ Punk asked, grabbing Luci’s arms and looking at her pleadingly.

     ‘Well _that_ answers my question,’ Luci sighed, rolling her eyes.

     ‘Luci!’ Punk asked again desperately.

     ‘Not yet,’ Luci admitted. ‘I’ve been asking around but… it’s kinda complicated. I’ll tell you once we get you settled down.’

     ‘Settled down?’ Colt asked, confused.

     ‘I’m in with a bunch of guys who’ve turned an old gym into a refuge,’ she explained. ‘They’re expecting you.’

     ‘What would we do without you, Lu?’ Colt beamed, shouldering his pack again.

     ‘You would die,’ she said, bluntly, before turning to Punk. ‘And you would already be dead, like several times over.’

     ‘I know, believe me I know,’ Punk rolled his eyes.

     The three men prepared to leave and Finn held out his arm for Colt, who shouldered it and helped him to take the weight off his bad leg again.

     ‘Oh no, the poor puppy’s injured,’ Luci said on seeing Finn limp.

     ‘Oh, I’m fine, really,’ Finn said, trying to wave off her worries.

     ‘Here, let me,’ she said, coming closer to him.

     ‘No, no, seriously, no, I’m good, I-‘ Finn tried to argue. ‘Colt can help me right?’ He looked over to Colt for help but the Chicago native just shrugged and let him go. Finn frantically turned to his other companion. ‘Punk?’

     ‘Luci’s stronger than either of us,’ Punk confessed with an evil twinkle in his eye. ‘Better let her do what she wants.’

     ‘But I-‘ Finn was cut off as Luci easily picked him up and flung him over her shoulder. He had to admit it was done so quickly and effortlessly that he would have been impressed if he weren’t so terrified.

     ‘Come on, honey,’ Luci said with glee to the helpless Irishman. ‘Let’s get you home for a nice bath then bed.’

     As Luci darted off with the younger man in tow, he mouthed _help_ to Punk and Colt who merely laughed in reply.

 

     For the first time since leaving Mason’s bunker, Punk had a long, peaceful sleep. Maybe it was the food in his belly, the intense exhaustion or the springy camp bed, perhaps an amalgamation of the three, but his mind finally shut off and let him catch up on some much-needed rest.

     He wasn’t sure how long he was out for but when his eyelids fluttered open, he forgot where he was for a moment and panicked on seeing the strange room around him.

     ‘Oh good, you’re awake!’ a voice sounded from near by and Punk nearly jumped out of his skin. He sat up quickly but relaxed slightly on seeing a young woman sitting in the corner with a beaming smile. She was rather tall with a slightly awkward build and had her brown hair tied up in a high ponytail on the side of her head.

     ‘Were you watching me sleep?’ Punk asked, rubbing his hand over his face.

     ‘Oh no, god no, that would be really creepy,’ the women replied, a little flustered.

     ‘Then what are you doing here?’ Punk asked, growing cranky.

     ‘Luci told me to keep guard while she grabbed breakfast,’ the girl explained. ‘Your friends are already up.’ Punk looked over to the other camp beds and found them empty, confirming that both Colt and Finn were awake. ‘If you want, I can take you to them.’

   ‘Sure, just give me a minute,’ Punk said, picking the grit from his eyes. ‘What’s your name, kid?’

     ‘Me?’ the girl replied with shock.

     ‘Yeah, you,’ Punk replied, prickly. ‘Who else would I be asking?’

     ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right,’ the girl laughed nervously. A pause hung in the air and it was only when she noticed the look Punk gave her that she remembered the question. ‘Oh, yeah,’ she said with a start, ‘I’m Bayley. I’m so happy to meet you.’ She rushed over and pulled Punk into a hug so blistering that it almost knocked the air from his lungs. He grabbed a breath and waited patiently for the embrace to finish but it went on and on until she was hugging him for an uncomfortably long time. ‘You know, you’re meant to hug back for these things to work,’ she said and Punk awkwardly placed his arms around her, returning the gesture. She made a happy noise like a cat purring in its sleep.

     ‘Ok, Bayley, you can go now,’ Luci said, entering the room. Immediately Bayley was up on her feet, her cheeks flushed red and she grinned merrily at Punk.

     ‘I’ll see you around, CM,’ she cheered and ran out the room.

     ‘O…K,’ Punk said, still in shock from the strange encounter. ‘She’s very… friendly.’

     ‘She’s harmless,’ Luci explained. ‘Has no clue what personal boundaries are though and _loves_ hugging people which makes for a bad combination. I would knock her teeth out if she weren’t so sweet and innocent. It would be like punching a baby koala.’

     ‘You like her, huh?’ Punk teased. He was starting to see the cracks in her tough exterior more each time they met.

     ‘She’s kinda like an annoying younger sister,’ Luci said with a shrug. ‘I’m blaming it on Stockholm Syndrome - I’ve been here too long, waiting for you dumbasses to arrive.’

     ‘How long you been here?’ Punk asked.

     ‘A couple of months,’ Luci said. ‘I thought the Shield had gotten to you.’

     ‘They came pretty close,’ Punk admitted and Luci nodded.

     ‘Who did that to you?’ Luci asked, pointing at Punk’s face. He lifted his hand and ran his fingers over the gash on his cheek.

     ‘Oh, that was Colt,’ he replied.

     ‘Yeah, I can tell by the impeccable stitching,’ Luci grinned, ‘I meant, who dealt the blow?’

     ‘That would also be Colt,’ Punk confessed.

     ‘Shit, you two have a lover’s spat or something?’ Luci asked with wide eyes.

     ‘It’s been a rough couple of months,’ Punk responded, simply. ‘I’ll fill you in later. Right now, I want some answers.’

     ‘Thought you would,’ Luci smiled. ‘Guess you saw the sun, huh?’

   ‘Yes! How-‘

     ‘Don’t ask me to explain the science behind it,’ Luci warned, ‘but the rumours that Widow told you were true. Tampa wasn’t affected by the Event, even the clouds don’t reach this far. Apparently it’s the same over most of Florida.’

    ‘What about this place? Where are we?’

     ‘Like I said, it’s an old gym that they turned into a refuge,’ she shrugged.

     ‘Yeah but a refuge for who?’ Punk mused out loud. ‘The city is pretty much abandoned so this whole venture is kinda pointless now. Why are these people still here? Why don’t they just leave and head towards the border like everybody else?’

     ‘It’s pretty complicated to explain,’ Luci said slowly.

     ‘Try me,’ Punk retorted.

     ‘I promise I’ll tell you everything in due time,’ she said in a serious tone to Punk. ‘For now though, let’s get you something to eat. Here, put these on.’

     She handed Punk a bundle of fresh clothes, which was a sight for sore eyes for the former wrestler. He eagerly pulled on the brand new pair of black sweatpants and a deep red T-shirt.

     ‘Where’d you get these?’ Punk asked as he slipped on his Cubs cap.

     ‘They have a ton of these in the stockroom,’ Luci explained. They used to sell them to gym members and stuff.’

     ‘What’s the ‘School of Hard Nocks’?’ Punk asked, noting how the name was emblazoned on almost every piece of clothing he was now sporting.

     ‘That’s the name of the gym,’ Luci shrugged.

     ‘Really? ‘Nocks’?’

     ‘Yeah, I know. It’s so lame,’ Luci chuckled, ‘but don’t say that out-loud. The people here can be a bit precious about it. Anyway, you ready?’

     ‘Yeah, let’s go, I’m starving.’

     He followed Luci as they left the small room that he and his friends had been assigned and walked through a bright, airy corridor. For Punk, the whole place was bizarre and surreal. Here he was, having witnessed such scenes of complete devastation and survived the murky pits of humanity, now walking through an immaculately kept building with the sun shining through the windows. It was almost as if he had woken up from a really long nightmare and for a brief moment, he felt as if the Event had never happened.

     Everything in the gym was spotless and he could see why as they journeyed through the building. They passed by several inhabitants, each busy with tasks such as cleaning or maintenance. Every one looked up and gave a friendly greeting as the pair walked by.

     ‘How many people are here?’ Punk asked.

     ‘I’m not sure the exact number but something like 10, 15?’

     ‘How many of them are travellers, like us?’

     ‘Only you, Colt, Finn and, I guess, in a way, me.’

     Punk looked at her, confused. ‘I thought this was a refuge?’

     ‘It is.’

     ‘So where’s all the, you know, ‘refugees’?

     ‘I told you, it’s more complicated than that,’ Luci replied. ‘Just be patient, I’ll tell you everything later on.’

     They walked through a pair of pristine, white double doors and found themselves in a canteen, set up with neatly formed rows of tables and benches. Punk instantly spotted Colt sat at a table chatting away to someone he didn’t recognise.

     ‘Go grab a seat. I’ll get the food,’ Luci said and Punk headed for Colt. He was in the middle of a story so Punk just placed his hand on Colt’s shoulder to alert his presence then took a seat and listened.

     ‘So me and this guy are tussling on the ground for his weapon right, bear in mind, he had literally just stabbed me in the arm! But, he should have known never to wrestle a wrestler and I finally grab the machete and throw it as far away from him as I can.’

     ‘Woah,’ the man opposite them gasped. He was clearly engrossed by Colt’s retelling of their encounter with the Vipers.

     ‘Now it’s just mano-a-mano, fist against fist. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance,’ Colt leaned back smugly and took a sip from his water bottle.

     ‘So what happened?’ the man asked eagerly.

     ‘I beat him and saved the girl,’ Colt shrugged and Punk hid his grin.

     ‘That’s incredible, dude,’ the man said in disbelief.

     ‘Did he mention how, in the time it took for him to take down one guy, that ‘girl’ he saved had taken down the other three?’ Luci interjected as she appeared at the table with two bowls.

     ‘Dammit Lu,’ Colt whined. ‘Why’d you have to ruin a good story?’

     ‘Cause that pale girl deserves her due,’ Luci shrugged. ‘She was a badass. You on the other hand are just an ass.’

     ‘She’s so mean,’ Colt muttered pathetically to the dark haired man, who looked back with a sympathetic smile.

     ‘Tye, Sasha was looking for you,’ Luci told Colt’s new friend who jumped up suddenly.

     ‘Oh yeah, I was meant to be reinforcing the outer walls today,’ he spluttered. ‘Great meeting you Colt, and…’ he looked at Punk, lost.

     ‘Punk,’ the Chicago native informed him.

     ‘Cool, nice meeting you too. I’ll see you around.’ And with that, he darted out of the cafeteria.

     ‘He seems like a nice guy,’ Colt said to Luci.

     ‘Oh he’s nice enough,’ Luci replied, ‘but a total scatterbrain. And god knows where he gets all that energy? He’s like an eight year old kid in a man’s body.’

     ‘Does everybody here drive you up the wall?’ Punk asked with a smirk.

     ‘Hmmm,’ Luci said, thinking hard. ‘The Boss is pretty awesome.’

     ‘The Boss?’ Punk asked.

     ‘You’ll meet them later,’ Luci said. ‘Now eat up.’ She thrust a bowl across the table to Punk who stared down mesmerised at the contents.

     ‘What the fuck?’ he gaped, pointing at the fresh, hot soup as the stunning aroma filled his nostrils.

     ‘Pretty sweet, huh?’ Luci grinned back.

     ‘You make this?’ he asked,

     ‘I help out in the kitchen from time to time,’ she responded, humbly. ‘You sure you don’t want some, Colt?’

     ‘No I’m good,’ Colt replied rapidly. ‘I can’t exactly stomach soup right now.’

     ‘It’s vegetarian,’ Punk pointed out, stirring his spoon around the broth, to reassure his friend. He knew the real reason behind Colt’s unease.

     ‘That’s comforting,’ Colt said, ‘but still no.’

     ‘That’s cool, I’ll see what else we can rustle up for you,’ Luci stood up to leave but Punk interrupted.

     ‘Where did all this come from?’ he asked, pointing to the fresh ingredients in the soup. In return, Luci only smiled. ‘Yeah, yeah I know. I’ll find out later.’

     ‘Do you feel weird?’ Colt asked Punk after Luci had left the table.

     ‘Yes!’ Punk shot back. ‘It’s like the past few months never happened and I’ve just woken up from a coma or something.’

     ‘Same. Clean rooms, actual beds, fresh clothes and proper food. It doesn’t feel right.’

     ‘You were speaking to that guy, uh Tye, right? Did he tell you anything about this place?’

     ‘No, he just introduced himself then when he found out I was from Chicago he asked about how we got here.’

     ‘So you told him about the fucking Vipers?’

     ‘We don’t exactly have a lot of ‘happy’ stories. I didn’t want to bring him down.’

     ‘Again, so you told him about the Vipers?’

     ‘Just that little bit that you heard. I didn’t say anything about you and Orton and… you know…’

     ‘Have you seen Finn?’ Punk asked, changing the subject.

     ‘Luci said he was in the infirmary.’

     ‘Why, did something happen?’

     ‘No, he’s fine. They have a trained doctor here and she wanted to examine his leg. Luci said he’ll be back later.’

     ‘It’s always later,’ Punk said, bitterly.

     ‘What’s up?’ Colt asked.

     ‘Nothing,’ Punk muttered back.

     ‘I can hear your teeth grinding together,’ Colt informed him. ‘Tell me.’

     ‘We’re finally in Tampa,’ Punk said, ‘I’m itching to start asking around for April. If she’s not here then I want to get out there and try and find her.’

     ‘Chill out,’ Colt scolded him. ‘You’ll get your chance. You haven’t eaten in almost a week, you’ve been pushing your body to the limits and you’re seriously dehydrated. Give yourself time to recuperate.’

     ‘I’ve wasted enough time,’ Punk said with frustration.

     ‘A day or two more will not make any difference,’ Colt told him sternly. ‘What kind of great, romantic reunion will you two have when you finally lock eyes, rush to her and take her into your arms… then pass out at her feet.’

     ‘It’s just, I’m so close.’

     ‘We’ll find her, we will, but focus on you for a couple of days first.’

     ‘Fine,’ Punk said reluctantly.

     ‘Here you go Scotty,’ Luci said, returning to the table and setting a large plateful of salad in front of him.

     ‘Lulu, I love you!’ Colt said and enthusiastically tucked in. Punk stared down at the plate of fresh vegetables with narrowed eyes and turned to Luci.

     ‘Where-?’ he started.

     ‘Later!’ she chastised, raising her finger at him.

     ‘Fine!’ Punk sulked and turned back to his soup.

     ‘I thought you promised me you would keep your hair short?’ Luci groaned.

     ‘It _is_ short,’ Punk said, absentmindedly rubbing a hand down the back of his head. ‘Anyway what about your hair? It’s down to your shoulders now.’

     ‘I didn’t make a promise about _my_ hair. Look at yours though, it’s all hanging down your forehead,’ she sighed. ‘Can I fix it, please?’

     ‘Knock yourself out,’ Punk shrugged.

     ‘Can you do mine too?’ Colt asked, pointing to his own overgrown do. ‘I’m sure Finn would appreciate it too. He caught himself in a mirror today and I swear he had tears in his eyes’

     ‘You’re asking me to put my hands on the pretty Irishman?’ Luci said perking up. ‘Sure thing!’

     ‘Should we warn Finn? Colt muttered across to Punk.

     ‘Nahhh,’ Punk retorted.

     ‘So what happened since I left you at Mason’s?’ Luci asked eagerly. ‘Tell me everything.’

     Punk and Colt began to recount their tale, from leaving the safety of the bunker to becoming hopelessly lost and running out of supplies. They told her of their meeting with Trevor and his family and their daring retrieval of their stolen cart.

     ‘That reminds me,’ Colt said. ‘They said they were on their way here. Has anybody called Trevor or Tracey arrived at this refuge – they had two kids?’

     ‘No, nobody like that has come here,’ Luci said with a heavy heart.

     ‘Shit,’ Colt sighed. ‘I hope they’re ok.’

     ‘Maybe they rode on to the border?’ Punk suggested, but even he knew it was a half-hearted effort to think positively.

     ‘So go on,’ Luci encouraged the pair, trying to pry them away from their sadness.

     They continued their yarn. Luci’s face turned scarlet as they spoke about their daring escape from the burning building. ‘Bastards,’ she spat on hearing how close the Shield had come to finishing them both. Eventually, they told how they had come across Finn in the woods and saved him from his would-be assassins. How Finn had helped them elude the Shield, took them raiding and taught them his tricks and finally how he saved Punk when he had been captured by Baron Corbin and his gang. However, when they finally revealed the Irishman’s true identity as the leader of the Bullet Club, Luci slammed her palm down on the table.

     ‘Jesus, Lu,’ Colt said, almost jumping from his seat. He looked around with embarrassment but they were the only people still in the cafeteria. ‘The fuck is wrong with you?’

     ‘You mean to tell me that sweet little Irish puppy that doesn’t speak above a whisper is the famed leader of the Bullet Club?’ she asked, leaning forward and turning very serious.

     ‘ _Was_ the leader of the Bullet Club, yes,’ Colt replied, looking very confused. ‘You’ve heard of them?’

     ‘Everybody down here’s fucking heard of them! Do you have any idea how much people fear him? How many people he’s killed?’

     ‘He’s not the same guy he used to be,’ Colt came to Finn’s defence. ‘He’s – what’s the word – _announced_ his old ways.’

     ‘ _Re_ nounced,’ Punk corrected. ‘Look, I didn’t trust him when we first met either. But he’s got our backs and believe me, he’s the kind of guy you _want_ in your corner.’

     ‘He’s a good guy,’ Colt confirmed and Luci nodded her head.

     ‘Oh I don’t doubt it,’ she replied, her eyes glazed over, suggesting she was concentrating.

     ‘Is there something wrong?’ Punk asked, getting alarmed. ‘Is he in danger here?’

     ‘Huh?’ Luci looked up as if just returning to the conversation. ‘Oh, yeah, I wouldn’t mention it to anybody here – they’re a bunch of goody-goodies.’

     ‘So, what’s up?’ Punk asked, seeing that revealing Finn’s true nature to the refuge inhabitants was not what she was concerned about.

     ‘I’m just thinking how much hotter he is now that I know who he really is,’ she smirked, her gaze focused on a different plane of existence. ‘He’s a bad, bad boy.’

     Both Punk and Colt groaned in disbelief and slumped back in their chairs.

     ‘So nothing bad will happen to Finn if he stays here?’ Punk asked for clarification.

     ‘Nahh, this community is all about _love_ and _forgiveness_.’ The last three words were dripping with sarcasm. ‘At worst, they’d ask Finn to leave.’

     ‘Woah, you guys speaking about me behind my back?’ Suddenly the man himself appeared at the side of the table and all three quickly went silent. ‘On no, was it that bad?’

     ‘No, you’re alright,’ Punk said. ‘Just stay away from this one.’ He pointed at Luci who was staring intensely at Finn and he knew she was mentally undressing him.

     ‘Ok,’ he quickly agreed. ‘Colt?’ He motioned for Colt to occupy the empty seat next to Luci so that Finn could sit safely next to Punk.

     ‘What did the doc say?’ Colt asked as they switched sides.

     ‘I’m doing good,’ he told the rest. ‘She reckons at worst I’ve got a fracture and a bit of muscle damage but there’s not much we can do about that. It’s not like you can just wheel me into surgery these days. For now, I’ve got to rest it and then we’ll rehab it. She wrapped it in a brace and gave me these crutches to help me move around.’

     ‘Glad to hear it.’

     ‘Actually she said I owe you a huge vote of thanks,’ Finn said to Colt. ‘If it wasn’t for you constantly sterilising it, she said my foot would have just rotted off. You saved it, man.’ Colt lowered his head humbly as his companions beamed proudly at him.

     ‘Where’s that shirt I gave you this morning?’ Luci blurted out at the younger man harshly, noting how he still had on his old T-shirt and Finn froze.

     ‘Yeah, how come you’re not a walking advert for the ‘School of Hard ‘Nocks’?’ Punk joined in, pointing to his red one and the dark blue one that Colt sported.

     ‘They didn’t have any in black,’ Finn shrugged.

     ‘Dude, you are so vain,’ Colt laughed wryly, shaking his head.

    ‘Speaking of, we have a treat in store for you,’ Punk said with a nasty twinkle in his eye.

     ‘Really?’ Finn asked, warily.

     ‘It’s a haircut, dude,’ Colt told him and Finn’s face lit up like a kid who’d just seen Santa Claus. ‘So vain,’ Colt muttered under his breath.

     ‘Well then, let’s get started,’ Luci said, rising from her seat and instantly Finn’s face fell.

     ‘Oh, you are… uh, I mean, I didn’t realise it was you who was, you know…’ he began to stammer.

     ‘Don’t worry puppy, I’ll be gentle,’ she said with a pout and reached over to stroke his cheek.

     ‘Oh I’m sure,’ he forced out as he stumbled up to his feet, his clutches clacking together as he tried to gather them in a hurry. ‘I’ve just remembered,’ he stuttered as he tried to dash away, hopping on his good foot while he tried to arrange his crutches, ‘I’ve got to grab something, quickly. I’ll just-‘

     ‘Oh no you don’t,’ Luci growled as Finn bounded out of the cafeteria. She made to follow him when she leaned over the table and grinned. ‘I love when they play hard to get,’ she snorted and ran after the Irishman, leaving the two Chicago natives alone at the table.

     ‘She seems to be over you,’ Colt noted.

     ‘She’s not,’ Punk rolled his eyes irritably. ‘But at least she’s distracted for a while.’

     ‘Should we go after them?’

     ‘Yeah… but let’s give it five minutes.’ He turned back to his soup.

 

     Later on, Luci was busy shaving the sides and back of Punk’s head while Colt and Finn, already sporting freshly cropped do’s, tamed their overgrown beards.

     ‘Fuck, I miss electric razors,’ Luci hissed as she dragged the disposable razor along the back of Punk’s neck.

     ‘You’re doing a great job,’ Punk encouraged her. ‘You gonna do these next?’ he asked grabbed some of the longer strands overhanging his forehead.

     ‘I thought I’d try something new,’ she said, slapping his hand back down.

     ‘Hey, how come I got the same old, same old?’ Colt called over.

     ‘Because that’s what you told me to do,’ Luci shot back.

     After she finished shaving around the back of Punk’s head, she brandished some scissors and tamed the longer hair on top. She finished off by opening a tin of grease, grabbing some in her fingers and pulling his hair off his forehead and slicking it back. As her soft hands swept across his scalp, Punk felt that same strange sense of calm that he couldn’t quite explain.

     ‘Done,’ Luci declared, wiping her hands on a gym towel. ‘What do you think?’

     Punk opened his eyes and admired her handiwork. ‘I look like Harrison Ford in ‘Regarding Henry’,’ he stated.

     ‘That better be a compliment,’ Luci warned with a snarl.

     ‘Yeap,’ Punk said quickly, glossing over the fact it was the style Ford wore when he was an asshole lawyer. He had to admit, though, he liked the new look.

     ‘Great, go get that beard seen to,’ she said, dismissing him.

     ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re setting us up here?’ Punk asked as he walked over to the sink to join Colt and Finn.

     ‘What do you mean?’ Luci asked innocently.

     ‘Are you making us presentable for a reason?’ Punk asked as he splashed water over his face.

     Luci smirked. ‘Cena asked to meet you all,’ she told them.

     ‘Who’s Cena?’ Colt queried.

     ‘He’s the owner of this gym.’

     ‘So he’s this Boss-guy you mentioned earlier?’

     Luci let out a loud laugh. ‘Hah! No. But he is a big deal around here so for the love of God, please be on your best behaviour.’

     A silence hit the room and Punk looked over to find all three pairs of eyes were squarely on him. ‘What?’ he asked incredulously. ‘I’ll behave.’

     Once Punk had finished shaving, all four walked out of the locker-room and bumped into Bayley who was walking down the corridor towards them.

     ‘Looking good, guys,’ she beamed, giving them all a thumbs up. ‘Lovin’ the new look, CM.’

     Punk gave her a quizzical look as she continued on her way. ‘Why does she call me that?’ he asked Luci.

     ‘Huh?’ she said, turning around. ‘Oh, did I not mention it before? She’s a fan.’

     ‘What, of Punk?’ Colt asked.

     ‘Of both of you,’ Luci clarified. ‘She’s a huge wrestling buff, watched it since she was a little kid. She actually came to Tampa to attend wrestling school.’

     ‘Great, another stalker to watch out for,’ Punk muttered with a sigh.

     ‘Awww! Poor Punk, having all of these gorgeous women after you. It must be so hard,’ Colt teased.

     ‘Shut up!’ Punk shoved his friend, gruffly.

     ‘Don’t worry, she’s not attracted to you or anything,’ Luci told him. ‘She’s more… in awe of you guys. She followed you both in the independents. I actually think she wants you to mentor her more than anything.’

     ‘So… you said she likes me too?’ Colt asked a little too keenly.

     ‘Ewww, Colt, she’s, like, more than 10 years younger than you,’ Luci scolded.

     ‘I wasn’t meaning it like that,’ Colt yelled, defensively.

     ‘Yes you were,’ both Punk and Finn shot at him.

     ‘Just so we’re clear,’ Luci said, walking up to Colt in a threatening manner. ‘Lay a finger on her and you will lose that finger. Capeesh?’

     ‘I never meant-‘

     ‘Capeesh?’

     ‘Yeah, yeah, capeesh!’

     ‘Good,’ she stated and turned on her heel to lead them down the corridor. Punk grinned to himself. She may act the tough guy but inside she was as soft as butter.

     It didn’t take the group long to reach their destination. Luci knocked on the door and a voice shouted for her to come in. They walked into an old storage room with several pieces of gym equipment set up. At the far end of the room, a shirtless man was on his back, bench-pressing.

     ‘Be right with you, Lu,’ the man said through his regulated breathing and carried on lifting the weights. Punk scrunched up his face at the display. After a few more reps, the man finally pushed the weights up and Luci went to help him place them safely back on their brackets. ‘Thanks,’ he said to her as he sat up and grabbed a towel to rub the sweat off his face and neck.

     ‘Ah, you must be Luci’s friends,’ Cena said, standing up and holding out his hand. ‘Glad to see you made it here safely.’ He smiled warmly as Finn accepted his gesture and shook his hand. Punk noted the man was around the same age as him, maybe slightly older, and the same height. That, however, was where the similarities ended. While Punk was considered unconventionally handsome in a rugged sense, Cena was the quintessential clean-cut hero. With bright blue eyes, square jaw and pearly white teeth, he looked as if he had just walked off the set of a Hollywood movie. This illusion was heightened even further by his incredibly chiselled physique. It was obvious the man was a gym monkey as muscles bulged out from every part of his body. He was a perfect poster boy, an All-American superstar.

     And Punk didn’t like him one bit.

     He watched as Cena shook Colt’s hand next before moving over to Punk. The grip was strong and purposeful; conveying the message that he was in charge. Punk’s instant reaction was to squeeze back tightly.

     ‘Good grip,’ Cena said to him, shaking his hand playfully as they parted. Punk smirked smugly.

     ‘That was quite impressive,’ Punk said, walking over to the bench, with his arms crossed over his chest. ‘How much weight was that?’

     ‘Four hundred and fifty pounds,’ he replied, lowering his head humbly, the gesture noted by Punk.

     ‘Pretty good,’ Punk feigned a compliment. Luci and Colt shot a look at each other and groaned inwardly. They could see exactly where this was going.

     ‘Mind if I-?’ Punk asked.

     ‘Not at all,’ Cena said politely, motioning to the bench.

     ‘Puuunk…’ Luci gave a warning as she watched the Chicago native settle down under the weights.

     ‘It’s cool, Lu,’ Cena turned around to reassure her.

     ‘Yeah, Lu, it’s cool,’ Punk shot back with a cheeky grin. Luci crossed her arms with frustration and bit down on her bottom lip.

     ‘Need someone to spot for you?’ Cena offered.

     ‘Nah, I’m good,’ Punk replied, gripping the bar firmly in his hands. With a grunt, he lifted the weight but quickly replaced it. ‘You got anything heavier?’ he asked with a cocky glint in his eyes.

     ‘I think that’s enough, Punk,’ Colt said with a cautionary tone in his voice.

     ‘Wanna try 455?’ Cena asked.

     ‘Let’s round it up to 460,’ Punk replied.

     ‘Fuck’s sake,’ Colt hissed under his breath.

     ‘You got it,’ Cena smiled back and went to add more weight to the bar. While he was away, Colt stepped towards Punk.

     ‘Get up, you’re being fucking ridiculous,’ he scolded his friend.

     ‘Relax, Colt, we’re just having some friendly competition,’ Punk said with a grin, as he sat up and removed his shirt.

     ‘Dude, you can barely lift 400lbs, there is no way in hell you’re lifting 460!’

     ‘I got this.’

     ‘Here we go,’ Cena returned and secured on the extra 10lbs. ‘Sure you don’t need a spotter.’

     ‘I’m sure,’ Punk said, cracking his knuckles. He wiggled his fingers before wrapping them around the bar and gripping it tightly. He took in a sharp breath as he went to push the weight up and at the same time, both Colt and Luci held their breaths, waiting for the inevitable. His arms trembled as he lifted the incredible weight off the brackets. His lips tightened and his eyebrows knotted together as he straightened his arms, trying desperately to gain control of the immense pressure. He felt everybody’s gazes on him and for a brief moment wondered what on earth he had gotten himself into.

     Then he slowly pulled his arms down.

     Colt watched in amazement as Punk performed several reps. He had never seen his friend perform such feats of strength before. Although they were constantly at the gym, Punk preferred to work on his cardio and stamina rather than strength training. Any weights he did do were kept to a minimum and he had never really worked over 400lbs before. To see him benchpressing well over his personal best was quite the sight and Colt grudgingly had to admit, he was impressed. Glancing around, it was clear he was not the only one.

     Punk replaced the bar on its brackets and sat up, triumphantly. ‘Still got that towel?’ he asked Cena who threw it over to him.

     ‘Now it’s my turn to be impressed,’ Cena smiled as Punk wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘My personal best is only 465lbs.’

     ‘Really? Then why don’t we-?’ Punk started to say when both Luci and Colt jumped in to interrupt.

     ‘I think that’s enough for today,’ Luci said, throwing Punk’s discarded shirt into his face. ‘We don’t want to hold you up any longer.’

     ‘What? We didn’t even get a chance to talk,’ Punk groaned, mockingly.

     ‘We’ll be seeing each other around,’ Cena assured him with a knowing look, before turning to Luci. ‘Have they seen the-?’

     ‘Not yet,’ Luci said to him. ‘I’m thinking that’ll be next.’

     ‘Cool,’ Cena nodded. ‘Again, nice meeting you,’ Cena grabbed Punk’s hand and helped him to his feet. ‘Any time you fellas wanna work out, you know where to come.’

     ‘Good to know,’ Colt said, walking up to Cena to shake his hand. ‘Nice meeting you, Mr Cena.’

     ‘Call me John,’ Cena smiled.

     Finn followed Luci out of the room, with Colt behind him and finally Punk, who walked out last with a smug grin on his face. As soon as they were a safe distance away from the gym room, Luci rounded on Punk and fixed him with a harsh glare.

     ‘You proud of yourself?’ she asked him.

     ‘Not gonna lie but yeah,’ Punk laughed back.

     ‘I told you to be on your best behaviour and you pulled a stupid stunt like that?’

     ‘Hey, I wasn’t the one who started it,’ Punk shot back. ‘Did you see that guy? He knew we were coming and did that fucking show with the weights on purpose.’

     ‘I know he did because he doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together. He owns a fucking gym, Punk, so naturally he walks with his knuckles dragging on the ground. I expected you to be the better man, the smarter man.’ Without warning, she thrust her face forward and landed a bruising kiss right on Punk’s lips. The sudden force of the kiss, knocked Punk back and he hit his head off the wall behind him. As abruptly as the kiss started, Luci pulled away. ‘You drive me fucking nuts sometimes,’ she scolded then turned heel and stormed off. ‘Come on.’

     All three men were shocked into silence as they stood, frozen in place like statues, trying to make sense of what just happened. After a few moments, Colt finally spoke up.

   ‘Uh… I think what Luci’s trying to say is,’ he said, ‘the guy is letting us stay here. You know, he’s fed us and given us shelter and protection when we really needed it most. He’s even had a doctor look over Finn and helped him get back on his feet. The least we can do for him in return is show him a little courtesy.’

     ‘Yah-huh,’ Punk replied, still frozen in position, his eyebrows knotted together in confused horror. He felt Colt pat him reassuringly on the shoulder before he walked off after Luci. A click-clack of crutches on the stone floor told him that Finn was standing next to him.

     ‘For what it’s worth,’ the Irishman whispered, ‘if you hadn’t shown that arsehole up, _I_ would have.’

     ‘Thanks, man,’ Punk returned. ‘Means a lot.’ He watched as Finn limped away down the corridor too. ‘So, we’re not going to discuss what just happened?’ Punk yelled after his friends. ‘Really? We’re just gonna ignore this?’ He rubbed two fingers over his bruised lips and let out a frustrated sigh. ‘Fine,’ he grunted and ran to catch up with his friends.

 

     The party followed Luci until they eventually landed outside a pair of red double doors.

     ‘You ready for this?’ Luci asked them cryptically.

     ‘Is it another shirtless prick?’ Punk asked and saw Luci bite her lip.

     ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Luci said, ignoring Punk’s comment and with a dramatic flair, swung both doors wide open. The sunlight hit the trio like a bolt of lightening and they all instinctively covered their eyes from its stinging rays. Punk was the first to look up, his arm shielding his face from the strange anomaly in the sky, and his face fell at the sight before him.

     ‘Fuuuuuu….’ he exclaimed in awe, prompting his two companions to look up and see what had amazed him so much. Their reactions mirrored Punk as they found the source of his disbelief. The room beyond the double doors had once been the main hall of the gym, but now the huge glass windows on the ceiling had been removed, allowing the sunlight to flood the chamber in a warm, yellow glow. Gone was the old wooden floor of the gym hall and replaced with plots overflowing with rich, brown soil. Sprouting from each of these plots were lashings of green - plants and vegetables growing freely under the watchful eyes of the gardeners pacing back and forth, busying themselves with their keep.

     The sight of green leaves, signs of growth and life, were now alien to the three travellers and they were unsure how to react to the scene before them.

     ‘Trevor was right,’ Colt said, his eyes wide with wonder. ‘It’s the Garden of Eden.’

     They heard a chuckle to their left and saw a young woman walk towards them with a large smile on her face. ‘I’m not sure about that,’ she laughed warmly, ‘but it is our little patch of paradise.’ The woman was in her early twenties with coffee coloured skin contrasted with bright purple hair. She was short and slim but her bare arms were toned with muscle. She walked with her head high, radiating confidence and purpose. ‘Hey Lu,’ she welcomed the blonde woman, pulling her into a hug before turning to the newcomers. ‘Your friends made it.’

     ‘Yeah, finally,’ Luci replied. ‘This is…’

     ‘Nah-uh, let me,’ the woman interrupted and went up to Punk, taking his hand and shaking it. ‘You must be Punk.’ It was a statement, not a question.

     ‘That’s right,’ Punk grinned back, shaking her hand politely, much to Luci’s relief.

     ‘You’re Colt,’ the woman went over to Colt and shook his hand next.

     ‘Yeah,’ Colt said, lowering his head to hide the slight blush that came to his cheeks.

     ‘And I already know Finn,’ she said to the younger man, shooting him a friendly wink. The other two looked over to the Irishman, confused.

     ‘She was the doctor who looked over my leg,’ Finn explained.

     ‘How you getting on with those crutches I gave you?’ she asked.

     ‘I’ve only tripped a couple of times,’ Finn confessed.

     ‘You’ll get used to them. Just remember to keep off that leg for now, ok?’ Finn nodded in reply.

     ‘Impressive,’ Punk admitted. ‘You know our names but we don’t know yours.’

     ‘I’m Sasha,’ she grinned back.

     ‘Better known as The Boss,’ Luci clarified.

     ‘You…. you’re The Boss?’ Colt asked.

     ‘That’s me,’ Sasha said with a wink.

     ‘But I thought this was Cena’s place.’

     ‘Just because he owns the gym doesn’t mean he’s the boss,’ Sasha said with a confident grin. ‘Everything you see before you,’ she gave a sweeping motion towards the garden, ‘is my domain. I helped build this with my own two hands and nourished it so that it grows and thrives.’

     ‘Impressive,’ Colt mirrored Punk’s words.

     ‘Sasha, can you help me here please,’ a woman tending to a plot of roots called over.

     ‘Duty calls,’ Sasha apologised to the trio. ‘Feel free to look around and I’m sure I’ll catch you later.’ As she dashed away, Luci turned to three men and smirked on seeing their faces still bearing looks of shock.

     ‘It sure is something, huh?’ she smiled, folding her arms across her chest.

     ‘It’s been so long since I’ve seen… _green_ ,’ Colt exclaimed. ‘Ever since The Event, it’s all been grey and brown.’

     ‘It’s the sun which still gets me,’ Finn confessed, squinting his eyes up at the bright light spilling in from the open roof.

     ‘You’re being awful quiet,’ she cocked an eyebrow at Punk.

     ‘I’m just being on my best behaviour,’ Punk said back and Luci rolled her eyes.

     They wandered further into the garden, dodging between plots of plump, red tomatoes and vines of bright, green beans. They found bouquets of lettuce popping out of the fresh earth alongside the plumes of carrots and parsnips. Each plot was decorated with a small, white label, and they read each as they passed, finding a plethora of roots and beans and tubers. A door, which had once been a fire exit lead to an outdoor orchard where small trees, only slightly taller than Punk, boasted boughs of ripening oranges and apples. It was a modest garden but thriving and provided more than enough for the small community who tended to it.

     After exploring the garden for close to a half hour, Finn was visibly starting to tire and Luci gathered the group to take them back to their sleeping quarters. She noticed, however, that they were a body short.

     ‘Where’s Punk?’ she asked the other two who shrugged in reply. She spotted him a few feet away, talking to Sasha and she hitched a breath. ‘Great, he’s pissing off another one,’ she muttered to herself and jogged up to the pair, hoping to interrupt the confrontation. ‘Come on, Punk,’ she said, grabbing him arm.

     ‘Yeah, I’ll be with you in a minute,’ Punk said to her. ‘OW!’ He jumped with shock as she dug her nails into his arm.

     ‘Come on, The Boss is a busy woman. Don’t want to take up any of her time.’

     ‘Actually, Punk was asking what he can do to help,’ Sasha said with a smile and Luci couldn’t help but hide the genuine shock in her face.

     ‘Help?’ she blurted out as she released her hold on him.

     ‘Yeah, why do you looked so surprised?’ Punk scolded her as he rubbed his arm.

     ‘Well…’ Luci searched frantically for an answer other than ‘you’re usually such a dick’. ‘I thought you still needed some time to recover, that’s all.’

     ‘I feel much better,’ Punk admitted.

     ‘Ok,’ Luci shrugged. ‘He’s all yours,’ she said to Sasha.

     ‘He’s in good hands,’ Sasha grinned back.

     ‘If you need a rest, water, anything, just come get me, ok?’ Luci said to Punk before she turned to leave.

     ‘Promise,’ Punk said with a small smile.

     Luci walked over to Colt and Finn who looked back at her in confusion.

     ‘Punk not coming?’ Colt asked.

     ‘He wants to help out in the garden,’ Luci explained.

     ‘Really? I want to help too,’ Colt said, enthusiastically.

     ‘Count me in,’ Finn offered.

     ‘What about your leg?’ Luci asked skeptically.

     ‘I can do the watering or weeding, you know, something not too taxing.’

     ‘You guys are all crazy,’ Luci sighed. ‘Hey Boss! I got more volunteers for you.’

    

     Sasha was thrilled to have more hands helping in her beloved garden and set her eager new recruits to work. It soon became apparent that there was never a lack of jobs and each time Punk, Colt or Finn finished one task they were immediately given another. As the day wore on, the three newcomers began to admire the citizens of the refuge more and more. Everybody stuck in and worked hard every day without complaint, working together to survive and thrive. It was a side of human nature that they had rarely witnessed in the aftermath of The Event.

     The day wore on and as evening grew close, Sasha declared their work done and sent her workers for their evening meal. Luci walked into the buzzing cafeteria and scanned the room. She spotted Finn and Colt sitting at a bench, chatting away to Bayley and Tye.

     ‘Hey guys,’ she said as she approached their table.

     ‘Lu! Come join us,’ Colt said, making a space for her on the bench.

     ‘Actually, I was looking for Punk,’ she asked, noting how he wasn’t with the group

     ‘He’s around here somewhere,’ Colt replied absentmindedly, completely engrossed in his food.

     ‘Helpful,’ she noted sarcastically before walking away. As she neared the door, she felt a hand tugging lightly on her arm and turned to face a guilty looking Bayley.

     ‘I know where he is,’ she admitted with a sheepish grin. ‘But he made me promise not to tell anyone.’

     ‘I won’t rat you out,’ Luci said with a soft smile.

 

     The air outside was beginning to grow cool as the evening softly crept in. Luci pulled her denim jacket tighter around her as she walked around the outside of the gym. She rolled her eyes when she spotted the ladder propped up against the wall, just as Bayley had described. She ascended the ladder, the metal beneath her hands still warm to the touch from the day’s sun.

     As she reached the top and stepped onto the roof of the building, she was met with an incredible sight of the setting sun. Dusk had burst in on the day, shrouding the sky in vibrant hues of reds and oranges. The clouds acted as bold brushstrokes against the canvas of the sky, adding rich textures to the stunning painted scene. She stood still, mesmerised by the beauty of nature’s own creativity.

     ‘It’s something, isn’t it?’ she heard a voice next to her and looked down to find the object of her search. Punk was sitting down on the concrete, leaning back against an old water tank, his legs crossed into a basket with his hands resting gently on his knees. He wore a serene expression on his face, his eyes bright, bathed in the same warm tones as the sky. She smiled noting how truly at peace he seemed in this moment.

     ‘It is,’ she agreed and took a seat beside him. ‘It’s amazing how quickly you forget when all of this it’s taken away from you.’

     Punk nodded his head in reply. ‘Bayley rat me out?’

     ‘No,’ Luci lied with ease, noting the smirk on Punk’s face to indicate he knew the truth. ‘I’ll always find you.’

     ‘That should creep me the fuck out,’ Punk said with a grin. ‘But it’s oddly comforting.’

     Luci smiled and lowered her head. She hoped the wash of red around them hid the blush she felt in her cheeks. ‘So what are you doing up here?’

     ‘I just… needed some space,’ Punk sighed. ‘Some air. Some time to…think.’

     ‘What about?’

     Punk turned to her with his eyebrows knotted. He was chewing his lip ring, which told her all she had to know.

     ‘April,’ she said, trying to hide her bitterness.

     ‘She’s out there,’ he said, turning back to look out on the wide expanse of the city before them. ‘I can… I don’t know, I can _feel_ it somehow. Like I’ve got this hook embedded in my chest and it’s yanking me towards her.’

     ‘Sounds painful,’ Luci joked.

     ‘It is,’ Punk smirked sadly and lowered his head.

     ‘So that’s why you’ve been keeping yourself so busy today.’

     ‘I had to. I had to keep my mind off her. Otherwise I would be packing my bag and heading out there right now, and Colt’s right, I’m not strong enough to do that yet.’

     ‘A little time is all you need,’ Luci pointed out. ‘You’re already looking better than when I found you yesterday.’

     ‘I feel better,’ Punk admitted. ‘I think it’s knowing she’s near. Like she’s giving me strength, something to fight for and now she’s so close…’ He trailed off, not able to find the words to describe his feelings, but Luci could see how his hazel eyes lit up, how his smile crept up his cheek.

     ‘She’s a lucky girl,’ Luci sighed.

     ‘Don’t be like that,’ Punk said suddenly.

     ‘Like what?’ Luci shot back, seeing that his smile had disappeared.

     ‘Jealous,’ he replied, sharply. ‘I’ve never lead you on or given you false hope. I told you from the beginning that there was nothing between us.’

     ‘I know,’ Luci muttered under her breath.

     ‘And you told me that you understood.’

     ‘I know,’ Luci said, louder, the tone of her voice betraying her pain.

     ‘So why are you still acting like this? And what was with that stunt you pulled earlier?’

     ‘I can’t just switch off my feelings, Punk,’ Luci said and she was yelling now. She stood up and stormed away, turning her back to him as the last of the red in the sky turned to black.

     ‘You have to,’ Punk told her. ‘It’s not fair… for either of us.’

     ‘What do you want me to do?’ Luci said, spinning around and looking at him. For the first time, he saw a flash of vulnerability in her and his anger simmered back down. He stood up and walked towards her.

     ‘I don’t need you to do anything,’ he said, his tone soft again. ‘I just…’ he stopped and stared into the dying sunset as if he would find the right words there. ‘You’re an incredible person,’ he finally said. ‘You’ve done so much for me and I’ll probably never be able to repay you for that. You maybe scared the shit out of me in the beginning but the more I’ve got to know you – the _real_ you – I’ve seen just how caring, brave and generous you really are. I’ve grown really fond of you. I just… I just want you to find happiness in all of this. And you’re not gonna get that with me.’

     He saw the tension in her face as she clenched her jaw hard, however it did little to stop the single tear rolling down her cheek. ‘Yeah,’ was all she could muster. Punk felt his heart break for her.

     ‘See, this is what I wanted to avoid,’ he sighed. ‘I knew I would hurt you. I tried to warn you back at the bunker that-‘

     ‘You did,’ she forced out. ‘You’re right. You were always upfront with me. This is my own fucking fault.’

     ‘Luci-‘

     ‘No, it is. This is my own issue to figure out. I’m sorry I kissed you earlier, that was so fucking stupid.’

     ‘Yeah…’

     ‘Anyway,’ she shook her head and stood straight but Punk could still see the moisture in her eyes. ‘You haven’t eaten yet. Colt and Finn are in the canteen waiting for you.’

     ‘I’m not leaving till I know you’re ok.’

     ‘I’m good,’ she said with a brave smile on her face, even though she was breaking apart on the inside. ‘Go, eat,’ she said, slapping his shoulder. Punk looked at her a moment longer but finally got the hint that she wanted to be left alone and made his way towards the ladder. As he descended down out of her view, she turned towards him, the tears building up in her eyes, threatening to roll down her cheek.

     ‘I love you,’ she declared, her voice barely a whisper. He never heard and her words were lost in the wind.


	33. The Water Run

     The days passed and it became harder and harder to believe that The Event had ever taken place. Punk, Colt and Finn almost felt as if they were on vacation with full bellies, warm beds and exquisite weather. The harsh environment and travails they had endured began to fade from their memory like mist in the morning sun and soon felt like nothing more than a dream.

     Punk felt his strength returning to him day by day, and with it, he found it harder and harder to stay in the refuge. To try and combat his urge to leave, he worked twice as hard, even late into the evening. One such evening, Punk was toiling away with a shovel, digging up an old plot to prepare it for new seeds, when he heard a warm chuckle behind him.

     ‘You know, you’re quickly becoming my favourite worker,’ Sasha greeted him, ‘but you do realise you need to rest from time to time, right?’

     ‘Rest and I go together like oil and water,’ Punk said, pausing his work to speak to The Boss. ‘Just ask Colt.’

     ‘I can see that for myself,’ Sasha grinned.

     ‘Hey, I wanted to ask you something.’

     ‘Shoot.’

     ‘How do you keep this place so well watered?’

     ‘It’s tough,’ Sasha admitted. ‘We collect rainwater whenever we can but mainly we collect from a reservoir a couple of miles away. It’s hard work but everybody pitches in to lend a hand.’

     ‘Sign me up,’ Punk told her without hesitation.

     Sasha chuckled at their guest’s eagerness. ‘Awesome,’ she grinned. ‘John’s leading the expedition tomorrow. They leave at dawn so go get some sleep. That’s an order.’

     ‘Aye aye, Cap’n,’ Punk saluted, finally admitting defeat and heading off to bed.

 

     After an hour of restless tossing and turning, Punk gave up on sleep. Deciding a walk and a glass of water may help, he shoved on his sweatpants and shirt, tiptoed past a sleeping Colt and Finn and out of the room. The corridor of the old gym was dark as he fumbled his way along, the floorboards cool against his bare feet. The night was still and Punk soaked in the silence, feeling a sense of peace. He had only been in the refuge for a few days but already it felt like home to him. The people were so welcoming and shared everything they had. Not only that but he realised he enjoyed having a purpose again. He loved the fact that he was helping to build something from the ground up and although his body ached, it was a pleasant sensation, the kind that came from a day’s hard graft.

     He grudgingly admitted that leaving this place would be incredibly difficult.

     As he approached the canteen, he noticed light peeking out from under the door and realised he was not the only one awake. Stepping through the doors, he found Bayley sat at a table with her back to him.

     ‘Evening,’ Punk said quietly, trying not to scare the younger woman. Despite his best efforts she jumped a mile and turned around clutching her chest. On seeing Punk, she laughed a little.

     ‘Jeez, you scared the crap out of me,’ she said.

     ‘Then we’re even, after you scared the shit out of me my first morning here,’ Punk smiled as he grabbed a bottle of water and went to sit opposite Bayley.

     ‘Oh yeah,’ she chuckled nervously. ‘I forgot about that. Sorry.’

     ‘It’s cool. So, you can’t sleep either, huh?’

     ‘No. I get… weird dreams.’

     Punk noticed something in Bayley’s hand. ‘What you making?’ he asked.

     ‘Oh, nothing,’ she said, shyly, trying to hide the item but Punk reached over and gently took it from her. Raising it up into the light of the oil lamp, he saw a small chunk of wood covered in tiny etches. ‘I only just started it,’ she explained, looking embarrassed.

     ‘What’s it gonna be?’ Punk asked, admiring the tiny carving before handing it back.

     ‘Promise not to laugh,’ she said, her face flushing red as if she had just been found out.

     ‘Promise,’ Punk swore, trying and failing to hide the smile on his face.

     ‘It’s Finn,’ she admitted and her face turned beetroot.

     ‘You like him?’ Punk asked.

     ‘No,’ she shot back then shook her head, ‘I mean, yeah, I like him, but not like that. He’s cute and everything but… I mean, he’s the only one I haven’t done yet.’ She noted the quizzical look on Punk’s face and took a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling as if contemplating whether to spill a huge secret. ‘Ok,’ she finally said and reached down to pick up a hessian bag at her feet, which she pushed across the table towards Punk. The Chicago native looked at her, puzzled.

     ‘You sure you want me to look in here?’ he asked her, sensing her discomfort.

     ‘Yeah, I’m sure but remember, you promised you wouldn’t laugh.’

     ‘I won’t laugh,’ he confirmed and opened up the bag. ‘Wow,’ he exclaimed on seeing an army of carved wooden figures inside, most of which had been lovingly painted. ‘You made all of these?’

     ‘Kinda, yeah,’ Bayley said, lowering her head.

     ‘These are incredible,’ Punk said, taking each one out and examining them. ‘Where’d you learn to do this?’

     ‘I guess I kinda taught myself,’ Bayley said. ‘It was a way to distract myself from… you know, _everything_.’

     ‘These are really amazing,’ Punk smiled. ‘You’re very talented.’

     ‘I try and make one for everybody I meet. At least, the people I like. See, that one there is Sasha.’

     ‘Yeah, I can tell from the purple hair,’ Punk grinned back, admiring The Boss’ miniature. ‘Who’s this?’ he asked, picking up one with bright orange hair and a carefully painted beard.

     ‘That’s Sami,’ she said and the smile left her face. ‘You don’t know him. He’s not here.’ Her train of thought was interrupted as Punk let out a loud laugh.

   ‘Oh my god, it’s Colt,’ he beamed from ear to ear as he held up the tiny figurine of his best friend, dressed in his wrestling singlet.

     ‘Hey, you said you wouldn’t laugh,’ Bayley scolded the former wrestler.

     ‘I’m not laughing,’ Punk said, still grinning and Bayley screwed her eyes at him. ‘I’m not mocking you, it’s just… it looks so much like him. I could tell straight away. It’s incredible.’

     Bayley’s smile returned. ‘You know, you’ve got one too.’

     ‘Really? Where?’ Punk asked and began to rummage around in the bag. ‘I can’t find it.’

     ‘Here,’ Bayley said and grabbed the bag away from him. It didn’t take her long to locate the small wooden figure and pass it to Punk, who eagerly held it into the light.

     ‘Woah,’ he grinned, admiring the carving. Like Colt, he was dressed in his ring gear, his hair long and blonde while his tattoos had been carefully painted on his arms and chest.

     ‘I hope you don’t mind that I did you and Colt in your gear,’ Bayley said with a blush in her cheeks. ‘You guys were kinda my heroes. I came to watch you a few times…. ok, a lot of times.’

     ‘Yeah, I forgot that you were a fan,’ Punk said. ‘Luci said you came to Tampa to attend wrestling school?’

     ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘It’s all I ever wanted to do. I heard there was a really good school here so I dropped everything to move here and train to become a wrestler. I was starting to get somewhere too, even had a couple of matches. I mean, it wasn’t a big promotion or anything, but it was something.’

     ‘Hey, I can’t judge,’ Punk shrugged. ‘I started out in a shitty ring that we built ourselves in my friend’s backyard. Looking back, that thing was a death trap. Can’t believe nobody got hurt.’ He chuckled to himself and Bayley smiled. An idea suddenly popped into Punk’s head. ‘Hey, you ever meet another female wrestler called April Mendez? She sometimes gets called AJ.’’

     Oh, you mean Miss April?’

     Punk leant forward with wide eyes. ‘You know her?’

     ‘Well, not really,’ Bayley admitted. ‘I’ve been to see her a couple of times but our paths never crossed.’

     ‘Oh,’ Punk said and his face fell. He leant back and rubbed his hand over his face, trying to mask his disappointment.

     ‘You ok?’ Bayley asked, sensing his sadness.

     ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ he replied. ‘It was a long shot.’ He looked up and saw the look of worry in Bayley’s face and decided to change the subject. ‘Hey, Luci also mentioned something about you wanting Colt and I to mentor you.’

     ‘Oh no,’ Bayley said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. ‘Maybe, back then, but what’s the point now?’

     ‘You never know what the future holds,’ Punk said, heaving himself to his feet. ‘This was a gym, right? Surely John Boy has some mats hidden around here?’

     ‘Uh, maybe, in his gym room,’ Bayley said, looking confused. ‘Why?’

     ‘I wanna see what you can do,’ he smiled at Bayley whose face dropped.

     ‘For real?’ she gaped.

     ‘Yeah, I could use the work out too,’ Punk said, stretching his tired muscles. Come on, it’ll be fun.’

     ‘This is awesome!’ Bayley cheered and jumped up.

     Between the pair of them, they moved the tables and benches to the edge of the canteen and filled the empty floor space with mats. It wasn’t ideal but it would do. After properly stretching, Punk removed his shirt and tossed it onto one of the tables.

     ‘Right,’ he said, turning around and clapping his hands. He paused on seeing the strange look Bayley was giving his torso. ‘Bayls, you ok there?’

     ‘Yeah, it’s just really weird seeing them in person,’ she said, mesmerised. ‘Your tattoos, I mean, not your, you know, your…’

     ‘Ok, I need you to focus now,’ Punk told her and she nodded her understanding. ‘Let’s start easy with some lock ups, alright?’

     ‘Sure,’ Bayley grinned. Quick as a flash, Punk was behind her with his arms locked around her waist. After getting over the initial shock, she grabbed his hands and pulled them apart, spinning out of the hold and around to Punk’s back before applying the same move on him.

     ‘Nice counter,’ Punk said with approval.

     ‘Thanks, I-‘ Bayley was once again caught off guard and he countered her move and was now positioned behind her once more.

     ‘Told you to focus,’ Punk smirked as he trapped her in the waist lock again. ‘Now try and get out of this one.’

     He spun her around and lifted her up into a bear hug, applying pressure around her ribs. He watched as the young woman pulled her elbow back, ready to bring it down on his head to try and break the hold.

     ‘What the hell?’ a voice sounded out behind them and the pair stopped. Punk spun around, still clutching Bayley to his chest, to see who had entered the room.

     ‘Hey Colt,’ he greeted, releasing his grip on Bayley who landed gracefully on her feet.

     ‘Here I was getting death threats from Luci when it should have been you she was worried about,’ Colt scolded.

     ‘What are you yammering about?’ Punk asked as Bayley sidled off for a sip of water.

     ‘You know what I mean,’ Colt shot back, visibly awkward.

     ‘I… really don’t,’ Punk said with a smirk, knowing that Colt was too embarrassed to say it out loud in front of Bayley. ‘So tell me.’

     ‘You know,’ Colt said, shooting a glance at the young woman. ‘Her, you… alone… at night.’

     ‘What’re you getting at, Colt?’

     ‘Dude, you have your shirt off!’

     Bayley loudly choked on her water. ‘Punk and I were sparring,’ she corrected Colt, clearly uncomfortable with the accusation. ‘We’d only just started.’

     ‘Oh is _that_ what it was,’ Colt said sarcastically, eyeing Punk suspiciously.

     ‘She’s good,’ Punk said, ‘from what I’ve seen so far anyway. Hey, you wanna step in? You were always better at the moves that I was anyway.’

     ‘Seriously?’ Colt asked, his face lighting up. ‘I’m a little rusty.’

     ‘We all are,’ Bayley tried to reassure him.

     ‘Speak for yourself,’ Punk chided.

     ‘Cool,’ Colt said, walking onto the mats and beginning to stretch. ‘So what were you doing?’

     ‘Lock-ups,’ Punk told him.

     ‘You are so boring,’ Colt shook his head. ‘Let’s do some throws.’

     ‘Oh, I’m not sure about bumping on these matts,’ Bayley said, uneasily.

     ‘I’ll do the bumping, you do the throwing,’ Colt assured her.

     ‘Ok,’ she grinned enthusiastically.

     ‘Well then, what’s going on here?’ another voice rang out and all three turned towards to the door to see Finn limp in on his crutches.

     ‘I’m about to throw Colt around the room,’ Bayley told him eagerly.

     ‘Oh, I want to see that!’ Finn beamed, taking a seat on the edge of a table beside Punk.

     ‘Dude, what happened, we used to be friends,’ Colt pouted at Finn who merely shrugged impishly back.

     ‘You ready?’ Bayley asked Colt, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

     ‘Oh I’m ready,’ Colt said, cracking his knuckles.

     The four friends practised long into the night, all the while laughing and joking. For Punk and Colt, it brought back fond memories of their time on the independents and made them realise how much they truly missed their profession. The maneuvers and sequences came flooding back to them naturally like a reflex and together they helped Bayley with her technique and taught her several new tricks.

     For Bayley, it seemed almost like a dream, being mentored by two of her heroes she had watched for so many years. After all the long, hard months of tragedy that she had endured, she was finally getting something good in return. She stole a glance over to Finn who was perched on the table, grinning from ear to ear as he enjoyed the free show. She bit her lip and quickly turned away again but not before Punk picked up on the subtle gesture and smiled to himself.

     Unbeknownst to the happy group, there was a fifth member of their party, standing alone in the dark corridor outside as she nudged the door open a crack to watch the merriment inside. Luci sighed sadly to herself, keeping her eyes transfixed on Punk as he demonstrated how to counter a sleeper hold. Ever since their encounter on the roof several weeks ago, she had been avoiding Punk like the plague. She volunteered for scouting duty, night watch, anything to keep her away from him. She needed the space to sort her mind out and see if she could dissolve these feelings she had for him, just like he’d asked.

     It wasn’t working, if anything, absence made the heart grow fonder and seeing him again had brought all of her emotions flooding back. She let go of the door and stepped back, allowing it to close completely and engulf her in darkness again. Shaking her head, she turned her back from the hall and walked away.

 

     The next morning, Punk was gently nudged awake. He groaned grumpily as he was forced from his deep, peaceful sleep and his mood only soured more when he saw John Cena crouched beside his camp bed. Since their initial meeting, Punk and Cena had rarely crossed paths but when they did, Punk made sure to act as civil as possible – fighting Orton and all of his Vipers was a cakewalk in comparison!

     ‘What d’you want?’ Punk spat, as he sat up and rubbed the grit from his eyes.

     ‘Sasha said you were interested in joining us on the water run today,’ John told him. ‘You still in?’

     ‘Sure, just let me get dressed at least.’

     ‘Cool, meet you out front in ten. Oh and wear your old clothes – nothing with the Hard Nocks logo on it, got it?’

     ‘Yeah, whatever.’

     Once Cena had left the room, Punk swiped back the covers and sat on the side of his camp bed, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair. He let out a long breath as he scratched an itch at the back of his neck, thinking about the task before him. Finally, he slapped his palms against his thighs and was about to stand up when he heard a sleepy voice mutter behind him.

     ‘Be nice.’

     ‘Huh?’ he turned around to face Colt who had not moved other than to open a single eye.

    ‘Be nice to Cena. Don’t be… you know… _you!’_

     ‘What? You any idea how insulting that is?’

     ‘Punk-‘

     ‘Fine. I’ll be the nicest, most charming guy in the world.’

     ‘Great, that’s all I needed to hear,’ Colt said as he turned onto his side and instantly began to snore loudly. Punk pulled a childish face at Colt’s back.

     ‘Ok, where were we?’ he muttered to himself as he turned back round and jumped with a start as he faced Finn sitting across from him on his own camp bed, staring at Punk with his intense blue eyes.

     ‘What’s this about a water run?’ he asked enthusiastically.

     ‘Forget it,’ Punk warned him. ‘You’re still healing.’

     ‘I’m better than I was,’ Finn argued. ‘The swellings gone down completely and Sasha reckons it’s not as bad as we first thought. A hairline fracture at worst.’

     ‘You’re not coming,’ Punk told him bluntly.

     ‘If I wear my brace, I don’t even need the crutches.’

     ‘No,’ Punk said firmly.

     Without saying a word, Finn pulled himself up onto his good foot and hobbled over to his pack.

     ‘What are you doing?’ Punk demanded.

     ‘Getting dressed,’ Finn replied flatly.

     Punk let out a frustrated growl. ‘Goddammit, are you even listening to me, I said-‘

     ‘Will you two pipe down,’ Colt called out, crankily. ‘I’m trying to sleep here!’

     After getting dressed, Punk and Finn wandered down the corridor to the front entrance of the gym, all the while bickering back and forth.

     ‘You’re not coming!’ Punk yelled at Finn.

     ‘Yes. I am’ Finn shot back, calm as a cucumber, which only infuriated Punk even more.

     ‘No! You’re not!’

     ‘Yes I am and you can’t stop me.’

     They reached the front door and walked out into the misty dawn of the new day.

     ‘Oh yeah, real mature. For your information I could easily stop you.’

     ‘You’re not my ma. I can do what I want-‘

     ‘Sorry Finn, you’re not joining us until that leg is healed.’ The pair froze as John Cena butted into the argument.

     ‘Ok, fair enough,’ Finn replied without a single rebuttal and turned around to head back inside.

     ‘What? Huh?’ Punk spluttered at the Irishman. ‘That’s it? You’re not gonna challenge _him?’_

‘He’s in charge,’ Finn shrugged and walked away inside.

   ‘Oh, so that’s how it is?’ Punk yelled after him and would have thrown some profanities too if he hadn’t become so aware of Cena lingering behind him. Instead he made do by taking his frustration out on his lip ring and biting down hard.

     ‘You ready for this?’ Cena asked. ‘It’s a long walk and when you’re carrying several gallons of water in the heat, it can get pretty tough.’

     ‘I’ve walked right across the country with a 100lbs pack on my back and psychotic maniacs trying to kill me left, right and centre. I think I can handle a minor fetch quest.’

     ‘Cool,’ Cena said. ‘We’re still waiting on a few guys so why not grab some water for yourself in the canteen. Should be ready to leave in five.’

     ‘Right,’ Punk replied and headed to the common room where he had spent the majority of the night before. Between the four of them they had cleared away all of the mats and returned the tables to normal. He walked into the kitchen area and lifted up a small hatch, which lead to a hole in the ground acting as a makeshift cooler, when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

     ‘Good morning CM, you’re up bright and early,’ Bayley greeted.

     ‘I told you before, call me Punk,’ Punk smiled warmly at the young woman, throwing her a bottle of water.

     ‘Oh, yeah, sorry,’ she said, slapping her forehead comically. ‘Old habits, you know. By the way, thanks for last night. I had a blast.’

     ‘You know what, me too. It really helped to take my mind off of… everything,’ Punk sighed.

     ‘Maybe we could do it again. You, me and Colt? And Finn can watch if he wants to.’

     Punk smiled to himself on hearing Bayley casually name drop the Irishman. ‘Sure thing.’

     ‘Hey CM – I mean, Punk, you free today?’

     ‘Fraid not, I’m on the water run. How come?’

     ‘Oh nothing. I’m meant to be reinforcing the camp walls today and it’d be cool to have some company.’

     ‘You go outside the camp on your own?’ Punk asked, alarmed.

     ‘I’m meant to be with Tye, but, you know Tye, he’s…’

     ‘A flight risk,’ Punk said with a smile. Tye had a habit of being unable to stay in one place for a sustained period of time. He glanced over as the door to the canteen opened and Finn came in, having retrieved his crutches from their room. A devilish glint crept into Punk’s hazel eyes. ‘You know, Finn’s not doing anything today.’

     He tried to supress a laugh as Bayley’s face turned beetroot.

     ‘What was that?’ Finn asked, hopping over to join them in the kitchen.

     ‘Bayls needs someone to help her reinforce the outer walls,’ Punk said, taking a swig from his bottle while Bayley glared at him.

     ‘I can help, if she wants,’ Finn said, ‘but I’m not sure if I’ll be of any use.’

     ‘You’ve changed your tune from earlier,’ Punks said, gruffly. ‘A few minutes ago you were going on the water run.’

     Finn scowled at Punk who smiled back smugly. ‘That was… I just thought…’

     Punk waited for a comeback from Finn but it never materialised. ‘Nothing? Wow, look at that! Punk, one,’ he said raising his index finger triumphantly to emphasise his first win over the former Bullet Club leader.

     ‘Just remember how many losses have come before it,’ Finn warned.

     ‘You must be losing your touch,’ Punk grinned, waving his finger in Finn’s face.

     ‘Enjoy it while you can,’ Finn said with a forced smile as he slapped Punk’s hand away.

     ‘Eh-hem,’ Bayley said, pretending to clear her throat.

     ‘Oh, yeah, sorry Bayley,’ Finn said, turning his attention back to her. ‘Sure, I’ll help you out today. I’ll go grab my jacket and we’ll head out.’

   ‘Ok, meet you back here,’ Bayley called out after Finn as he trundled out of the hall. As soon as he was gone, she slapped Punk around the shoulder.

     ‘Ouch!’ Punk exclaimed, unable to hide his smirk as he clutched his shoulder.

     ‘Ok, who told you?’ she demanded.

     ‘Nobody.’

     ‘WHO?’

     ‘You did,’ Punk answered and Bayley’s face fell. ‘The way you gave him googly eyes all night.’

     ‘I did not have… googly eyes,’ Bayley huffed, crossing her arms.

     Punk grinned and leant in close. ‘Have fun today, kid,’ he said and made to leave.

     Bayley watched until he was almost out of the door. ‘Thank you,’ she called out and Punk stopped in his tracks.

     ‘I only set it up,’ Punk shrugged. ‘The rest is up to you.’

     ‘Be careful out there,’ Bayley said. ‘Come back in one piece.’

     ‘Please,’ Punk scoffed. ‘I’m CM Punk, I’m the best in the world.’

     Bayley shook her head wryly as the Chicago native disappeared through the door.

 

     The sun beat down on Cena’s group as they made their way through the deserted streets of Tampa. Punk adjusted the visor of his cap and took in a deep breath, a smile tattooed across his face. Months of being trapped in a cold, grey prison had given him a new appreciation of the sun and he soaked in every second he was in its glow, no matter how unforgiving it could be. He rolled up the sleeves of his hooded jacket and felt the warmth on his inked arms.

     ‘How you feeling, friend?’ John Cena appeared beside him, keeping pace.

     ‘I feel good,’ Punk replied honestly. He was so happy to be out in the fresh air that not even the Boy Scout could sour his mood.

     ‘Starting to feel a bit cooped up back there, huh?’ Cena asked.

     ‘You have no idea,’ Punk muttered.

     Cena chuckled and slapped the Chicago native playfully around the shoulders – Punk hated when he did that! ‘Well you just enjoy it. Remember to keep hydrated even if you don’t feel thirsty.’

     ‘Sure thing,’ Punk said and watched as Cena walked off to check on another member of the group. ‘Dick,’ he muttered under his breath.

     He turned his attention back to the buildings around him. Although he knew Tampa had been almost completely abandoned and he had safety in numbers with the party, he still felt uneasy being out in the open. From the moment they crossed the state line into Florida, there had been no sign of the Shield. Even Luci who had been out on patrol most days since their arrival had found no trace of Bischoff’s men. Colt hoped this was a good sign, that perhaps the hounds had given up on their prey and made their way home. Punk and Finn weren’t so optimistic.

     It did feel strange though, to have been pursued so relentlessly for so long to suddenly have nothing at all. Even when Punk and Colt had been with the Bullet Club, the Shield had been a constant presence, lingering in the shadows, waiting for their moment to strike. Punk eyed every window and doorway they passed with a critical eye.

     ‘Where are you hiding you sons of bitches?’ he thought to himself.

     All of a sudden, he froze as he spied the buildings around him. There was something strange about this place, a feeling of… familiarity.

     ‘Holy shit,’ he gasped as he spun around, looking around him frantically, his heart beginning to pound against his rib cage. Sweat beaded on his forehead and not from the heat of the sun.

     ‘Hey man, you ok?’ one of the group placed his hand on Punk’s shoulder, snapping him from his trance.

     ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Punk said, turning around and following the party once more. ‘I’m ok. Hey, do you come back the same way?’

     ‘Yeah, why?’

     ‘Just trying to get my bearings,’ Punk replied. He didn’t think it possible but his smile grew even more, and his step became lighter as he turned and rejoined the party.

 

     Back at The School of Hard Nocks, Bayley was surprised to find herself having a great time with Finn. Ever since his arrival in the gym, he had been quiet and introverted, keeping to himself mostly, unless he was with Punk and Colt. He helped out where he could but his injured leg held him back and he spent most of his time resting in his room on his own.

     When Punk had volunteered the Irishman, Bayley had thought that the day would be awkward; full of long, lingering pauses and polite small talk but it had turned out far from it. Perhaps he was just happy to be talking to another human being for once or maybe he felt more comfortable around her after the night before but either way they were chatting away as if they had known each other their whole lives. She knew that he was polite and charming but had no idea how funny he was and her ribs hurt from laughing so much at his tales.

     ‘No way,’ Bayley exclaimed through giggles. ‘I don’t believe that for a second.’

     ‘I swear, we only turned our backs for two seconds and he was suddenly over the barrier and was just there, spooning the pandas.’

     ‘What did the pandas do when they noticed some drunk guy all up in their business?’

     ‘I don’t think they even noticed! The zoo keepers did though.’

     ‘They throw you out?’

     ‘Yeap… in the back of a police car.’

     ‘You were arrested?’ Bayley gasped.

     ‘Yeap, and spent a day in the cells. Fortunately we only got a hefty fine and a lifetime ban from Tokyo Zoo. I was panicking though – I thought they were gonna kick me out the country. My Visa had long run out by that time.’

     ‘So how long were you in Japan?’

     ‘Four years. By that time I had completely outstayed by welcome. Seen the inside of a few more jail cells too.’

     ‘I’m sorry, I’m having trouble picturing this,’ Bayley said.

     ‘Picturing what?’

     ‘You being arrested. Not just once but several times.’

     ‘Is it that hard to believe?’

     ‘Yeah, I mean, you’re Finn. You’re sweet and shy. I never had you down as a bad boy.’

     Finn laughed softly and lowered his head. ‘What about you?’ he said, quickly changing the subject, ‘I never knew you were such a bad ass.’

     ‘Pfft, no I’m not.’

     ‘You’re joking? Those moves you did last night? I mean, you lifted Colt over your head!’

     ‘It was only a German Surplex and, I hate to break this to you but Colt did most of the work. He just makes me look good.’

     ‘Don’t downplay your part. I could tell Punk and Colt were really impressed and they know what they’re talking about. I’ve only watched a couple of matches on TV before so to me, it looked absolutely incredible.’

     Baylay fought hard to fight the blush growing on her cheeks. ‘Thanks,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Could you pass me the hammer again, please?’

     ‘Yeah, sure,’ Finn searched around him but had trouble locating it.

     ‘Behind you,’ Bayley said, pointing. Finn turned around and found the hammer resting behind him on the table he was sitting on.

     ‘Jesus, I’m blind,’ he laughed and handed it over to Bayley.

     ‘You know you can go back inside if you want,’ Bayley told him. He had managed to help her with the labour for a couple of hours until his leg began to throb and he needed to rest. Naturally, he had already made Bayley promise on her life that she wouldn’t tell Punk. He had now been sitting on her workbench for around an hour, chatting away.

     ‘I’m good, I’m enjoying the company,’ Finn assured her.

     ‘D’awww, you!’ Bayley smiled, feigning embarrassment.

     ‘Seriously. I mean, Colt and Punk are my brothers but we’ve been living out of each other’s pockets for weeks. It’s refreshing to speak to somebody else. For starters, you’ve got some new stories to tell, not the same ones over and over again. I swear, if I have to hear about Colt’s toe infection one more time-’

     Bayley laughed. ‘Not to mention, I’m damn easier on the eyes.’ _Oh my god where did that come from?_ She looked over to Finn. _Maybe he never heard._

Finn smiled warmly back at her.

     ‘A whole lot easier,’ he said. Bayley turned back to the wall to hide her reddening face. ‘Bayls, can I ask you something?’

     ‘Sure thing.’

     ‘Have you been sneaking stuff into my room?’

     Bayley scoffed, a little too much. ‘What? No! Why? What stuff?’

     ‘Every time I go back to my room, there’s a new magazine or puzzle or something. I mentioned to Colt a couple weeks ago how much I used to love Lego when I was a kid and suddenly there’s a Lego set in there, waiting for me on my bunk.’

     ‘Sounds like Colt is the one you need to ask about this,’ Bayley said, keeping her gaze focused on the plank she was nailing to the wall.

     ‘Colt would have forgotten what I said by the end of the conversation,’ Finn laughed. ‘But _you_ were right next to us, trying to get the hose working again.’

     Bayley finally turned around to face him again and her face looked as if it had been badly sunburnt. ‘Busted!’ she forced out with a shrug.

     ‘I knew it! Where did you even find them all?’

     ‘The magazines were already here in the gym. As for the other stuff, I asked Luci to keep an eye out for them on her watch. Took her a while to find a Lego set but she came through.’

     ‘You have no idea how much that meant to me,’ Finn grinned. ‘I’m not ashamed to admit, I actually squealed like a little boy for a while and bounced around the room.’

     Bayley let out a loud laugh. _So cute!_

‘I mean it though,’ Finn said in a serious tone. ‘I really appreciated it.’

     ‘It was nothing,’ Bayley shrugged again. ‘I just… felt really sorry for you. In that room. All alone. I just…’ She looked up and noticed Finn’s mood had changed. His head was down and his jaw was clenched. ‘You ok?’

     ‘Yeah,’ Finn said, snapping back to reality. ‘I’m just… I’m sick of people feeling sorry for me.’

     ‘Oh crap, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-‘

     ‘No, I don’t mean you. I mean… I’ve never been like _this_ before. I’ve never been…’

     ‘Hurt?’

     ‘Vulnerable! I’ve always been able to hold my own. I was strong, fast, confident. I could do extraordinary things. If a challenge came along, I could face it down. People revered me or feared me. But now…’ He slammed his fist down on the table. ‘Now, I’m just some cripple that can’t even do a day’s work.’

     ‘Hey, hey,’ Bayley said, kneeling down in front of him. ‘It’s early days. Your leg will get better.’

     ‘We don’t know that!’ Finn yelled but Bayley never flinched. ‘If this was two years ago, I would have been in a hospital, under the knife, getting everything fixed back into place. I’d be at some rehab centre with experts and the latest equipment, getting my leg back to 100%. Here and now, we have nothing! We don’t even know what’s wrong with the damn thing.’

     ‘Sasha’s an expert,’ Bayley offered.

     ‘She was a trainee doctor,’ Finn argued back. ‘She never even got to finish medical school before the whole country went to hell.’

     Finn was stopped in his sulking by a strange noise. He looked down to find Bayley with her hand over her mouth, trying to stop herself from laughing.

     ‘Was something I said funny?’ he asked, warily.

     ‘No, no, nothing,’ she said before letting out another snort of laughter.

     ‘Is my misery funny to you?’ he asked, a little stung but this only made her laugh louder. ‘What? What is it?’

     ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, trying to stifle her amusement. ‘But you know what you just did, right?’

     Finn shook his head. ‘What are you-? No, what-‘

     ‘You really didn’t notice you were doing it?’ Bayley asked, biting her lip but when Finn shook his head again she burst out laughing once more.

     ‘What! What did I do?’

     ‘Your voice – it changed. You started talking like Punk.’

     Finn looked at her confused. ‘What do you mean?’

     ‘I can’t believe you didn’t notice. It must have been subconsciously or something. When you started ranting, you did it in Punk’s voice – the Chicago accent and everything. I thought you were only joking at first but you kept going on and on. It sounded exactly like him.’

     ‘I… I did?’ Bayley nodded back at him. ‘What the hell?’ He sat back in stunned silence. After a few seconds, a smile curled up the side of his mouth. ‘What the actual hell?’

     ‘I’m sorry I didn’t mean to laugh. It was just so funny.’

     ‘I can’t believe I just did that,’ Finn said, laughing now. ‘Jesus, I’ve been hanging around that grumpy bastard too long. He’s rubbing off on me.’

     ‘Clearly.’

     ‘You know, I’m not like that at all. I’m usually quite chilled out.’

     ‘I got that impression. Maybe you just needed to channel your Inner Punk.’

     ‘Ugh, I don’t want an Inner Punk, I’ve already got enough in there as it is.’

     ‘What do you mean?’ Bayley asked, concerned.

     ‘Nothing,’ Finn smiled back at her. Now was not the time to talk about his ‘demon’.

     ‘And listen,’ Bayley said, placing her hand gently on his good knee. ‘Sasha may not have finished medical school but she knows what she’s talking about, trust me. She reckons it’s just a hairline fracture and it’s healing really well. You have to rest it and rehab it, which I know seems like an age right now, but it will get better and it will get stronger. She’s already blown away with how quickly you’re recovering.’

     ‘Yeah?’ Finn asked. ‘How do you know this?’

     ‘She’s my best friend, she tells me everything.’

     Finn began to smile again and nodded his head. ‘Thanks, Bayls.’

     You’re welcome,’ she smiled back. ‘Come here.’ Before Finn had a chance to react, she had thrown her arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug. ‘You know what they say, hugging is the best medicine.’

     ‘I thought that was laughter,’ Finn gasped out.

     ‘No, I definitely think it’s hugging,’ Bayley cheered back.

 

     The water run was uneventful the entire way to the reservoir much to the relief of the party’s leader, John Cena, but also to Punk. No sign of the Shield so far. Perhaps Colt was right and they had decided to give up and go back to New Chicago. Yet, he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that.

     Punk finished filling up the large plastic canisters he’d been assigned with water. He sighed as he tested the weight of one. It had been easy enough walking the long distance to get to the reservoir with the canisters empty, but marching back with them both full would be a gruelling endeavour. He screwed the lid closed on them both and attached them to a thick wooden yoke. Bending down, he placed the yoke across his shoulders and straightened his back. With a great effort, he lifted the almighty load with his knees. He managed to bring the around five inches off the ground before slumping back down again.

     It was far too heavy. Maybe this was a mistake, after all.

     ‘Need a hand there, friend?’

     _Why are you always here, will you just FU-_

‘No, I’ve got it,’ Punk replied. He glanced up at John Cena, who had already managed to lift his yoke up over his shoulders even though both canisters were double the size of Punk’s. The Chicago native chewed the inside of his lip irritably. This man just _loved_ to show off his strength.

     ‘I can help you with-‘ John offered.

     ‘I said, I got it!’ Punk spat back and positioned himself below the yoke again. This time, when he lifted, he managed to stand all the way up, although he was positive that he had torn every muscle away from his skeleton in the process.

     ‘There you go,’ Cena smiled back. ‘And don’t worry, first time is always the hardest.’

     ‘Yeah,’ Punk mumbled.

     ‘Ok, we all ready?’ Cena asked the party. ‘Great, then let’s roll out!’

     The group, all shouldering their precious cargo, started the long road back to the camp. Punk’s back was screaming at him as he focused on placing one foot in front of the other. What the hell had he signed up for? This was way harder than he was expecting. The one factor making this even worse though, was the fact that Cena was right beside him, keeping pace with him.

     ‘I really am fine,’ Punk said to the camp leader. ‘You don’t need to babysit me.’

     ‘I can see that,’ Cena assured him. ‘I was actually hoping to talk. We haven’t really crossed paths since you and your friends arrived at Nocks.’

     _Maybe you should take the hint._

‘Ok. So talk,’ Punk wheezed back, trying to hide the wheeze.

     ‘I’ve heard nothing but good things about all three of you,’ John said to him, barely even breaking a sweat. ‘Sasha especially sings _your_ praises. Says you’re hardworking. I’m seeing that right now. You’re just the kind of guy we need here.’ He looked over at Punk and only just caught the Chicago native roll his eyes. ‘Everybody seems to love Colt and Finn’s starting to come out of his shell. Maybe when his leg has healed more, he’ll start to open up a bit.’

     ‘You got a point here?’ Punk asked impatiently.

     ‘I do,’ Cena replied. ‘I’m telling you that our community has really taken a shine to you all and, maybe I’m being presumptuous here but you’ve all taken a shine to Nocks and her people too.’

     ‘You are presumptuous,’ Punk shot back, ‘but you’re right,’ he said in a softer tone.

     ‘I’m glad to hear it. So, getting to my point, how would you all like to stay with us? For the foreseeable future?’

     Punk finally looked over to John Cena, the sunlight glinting off the green in his hazel eyes. ‘Stay?’ he asked.

     ‘We can sort out something more long-term with your living arrangements,’ Cena offered, seeing the uncertainty in Punk’s face. ‘We don’t have much but we can do what it takes to make you and your friends comfortable. What do you say?’

     Punk paused, nibbling on his lip ring. He was getting flashbacks to his time with the Bullet Club, hearing Colt’s voice in his head, scolding him about not respecting his decisions.

   ‘I can’t speak for Colt and Finn,’ he finally said to Cena. ‘They’re free to make up their own minds about it.’

     ‘And you?’ Cena probed.

     ‘I love the place,’ Punk admitted. ‘I can see myself being happy there…’

     Cena waited for the ‘but’.

   ‘..but I came to Tampa for a reason. I came to find somebody. This has been a great stop-gap but it’s just that. Once I feel strong enough, I need to get back out there and find her.’

     ‘And if you do find her?’ Cena asked. ‘What then?’

     A small smile crept across Punk’s features. ‘Who cares? I’ll be happy whatever.’

     Cena paused, clearly taken aback by his words. He smiled to himself and nodded his head. ‘Well, I ask you to bear us in mind. You and any friend of yours is welcome to stay.’ He patted Punk on the shoulder and as quick as a flash, Punk’s smile was gone and the scowl was back on his face.

     ‘Good to know,’ he snapped back. ‘Anything else?’

     ‘No, that’s all,’ Cena told him. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

     Punk watched with seething fury as Cena strode on ahead effortlessly as if his canisters were filled with feathers.

 

     Evening was drawing in and although it had been a long day of labour, the hours had sped past for Bayley. She had enjoyed her day with Finn more than she ever thought possible, even though he was a terrible distraction. Things only got worse at midday when the sun was at its fiercest.

     ‘Do you mind if I take my shirt off?’ he had asked Bayley who snorted a nervous laugh.

     ‘No,’ she forced out, trying not to sound too keen.

     Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he grasped the collar of his sun-beaten black shirt and pulled it up over his head. What lay beneath dazzled her more than the blazing star in the sky. Sasha always joked that Finn’s tight top never left much to the imagination, but in truth, it was beyond her wildest dreams. He was carved from marble, his perfectly chiseled abdomen a wondrous work of art.

     ‘Bayls, you’re staring,’ Finn’s voice snapped her back to reality, yet she still couldn’t tear his eyes away.

     ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…‘ she stammered.

     ‘Bayls, my eyes are up here,’ he pointed to his face and finally she brought her gaze to meet his. Her blush deepened on seeing the wide grin on his face. He knew his body was a masterpiece.

     Locking onto his eyes, she had escaped the metaphoric frying pan and fallen face first into the fire. The scorching sunlight illuminated his intense blue eyes, freezing her in place. She stood as still as a rabbit when it suddenly comes nose to nose with the wolf, feeling a shiver run up her spine.

     ‘You feeling alright, Bayley?’ Finn asked. Bayley couldn’t tell if he was flirting or genuinely worried.

     ‘Uh-huh,’ was all she could muster back.

     ‘Are you sure?’ he asked again, those ice blue eyes burrowing into hers.

     ‘Yeah.’

     ‘Ok, I’m just asking because you’re about to drop your hammer and its hovering right over your foot.’

     ‘Yuh-huh.’

     ‘Bayley…’

     ‘Finn…’

     ‘Bayley!’

     *Bang*

     ‘OOOOWWWWW!!!’

     Bayley laughed as she remembered the day’s events. Finn, ever the gentleman had tended to her wounded foot by using his discarded shirt as a cold compress. Fortunately, it was a minor injury and after half an hour’s break, she was back on her feet again. She cringed on thinking back to how she had acted like a dumb teenager with a crush. Finn, however, didn’t seem to have noticed at all, or if he did, he was clearly used to getting this kind of attention and was unfazed. Either way, he had carried on as if nothing had happened for the rest of the day, chatting away as usual.

     The sun was starting to fade and the pair were packing up their gear to head back inside. Finn let out a shiver.

     ‘It’s incredible how cold it gets once the sun sets,’ he said, pulling his leather jacket over his bare torso – his T-shirt was still drying out.

     ‘Why don’t you take the toolbox inside and warm up,’ Bayley offered. ‘I’ve just got to fold the table and I’ll be heading in too.’

     ‘You sure?’ Finn asked. ‘I can wait.’

     ‘No, seriously, go ahead,’ Bayley assured him. ‘You’re coming out in goose-pimples.’

     ‘Ok, I’ll see you in there,’ he said. He stood up, the toolbox in one arm and a crutch under the other. ‘Could you pass me my other crutch, please, Bayls?’

     ‘I’ll bring it in, now go!’

     ‘Right, right, I’m going!’ She watched as he hobbled away towards the main entrance of the camp.

     Bayley let out a sad sigh. Today had been the most incredible day. Even better than the night before with Punk and Colt and she didn’t even think that was possible. She had needed this. She couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled and laughed so much. Ever since the Event, she had experienced nothing but misery and fear, and that was even before she was imprisoned in…

     She froze, listening carefully to her surroundings. There was silence but she stood as silent as stone, picking out the sounds carried by the wind.

     There it was again!

     No doubt this time.

     She slowly crouched down, scanning her surroundings. She felt something metal beside her foot and found the hammer. She clenched her fingers around its rubber handle, squeezing the weapon in her hand tightly. Gradually, she rose up onto the balls of her feet and eased her way forward.

     The large outer wall of the camp circled the gym in a long oval. The noise was coming from further along the wall, the curve of the façade blocking the culprit from view. As she made her way closer to the source of the noise, the wall fell back, sluggishly revealing the perpetrator.

     She spied a man, rushing towards the wall, trying in vain to grasp the top of the structure in order to pull himself up and over. Each time he failed, he took several steps back and tried again. Bayley watched from her hiding spot in the shadows. She didn’t recognise the man. He wasn’t from their group, which meant he was potentially an enemy.

     She remained still as the grave, trying to find the courage within her to go out and stop the man from infiltrating her camp. She felt sweat bead her forehead and her heart wildly thrashing around her rib cage.

     _You can do this, Bayley. You’re a badass, remember?_

The moment came when the intruder finally managed to curl his fingers around the top of the wall. Without a moment’s hesitation, she rushed forward, swinging the hammer madly and planted it right into the back of the stranger’s knee. His let out a cry of pain and fell back onto the floor below. On instinct alone, Bayley stood over him, the hammer brandished in both hands and her mind a blur.

     ‘Who… who are you?’ she demanded, trying her best to look threatening.

     ‘You stupid bitch!’ the man cried back, his arm reaching down towards his knee.

     ‘Who are you?’ she repeated, her voice stronger now.

     By the time she noticed the man’s hand reaching for her, it was too late. His fingers grasped around her ankle and pulled her feet out from under her. Bayley fell back and hit the back of her head off the hard packed earth beneath her. She saw stars as the hammer fell from her grasp.

     ‘Stupid, fucking bitch,’ the man spat from beside her. ‘You nearly broke my fucking leg.’

     _I need to get away_ ,’ Bayley thought and managed to force her body to roll over onto its side, facing away from the stranger. She got no further as she felt the man’s hands on her, pulling her up onto her feet. As soon as his arm clenched around her throat, she knew she was dead.

     _This is it._

_This is how it ends._

The man’s arms squeezed tightly around her neck, cutting off her air supply.

     _Finn… Punk… help me!_

_Her vision began to go dark. She was going under._

_Punk!_

What had he taught her the night before?

     ‘Come on,’ a voice said impatiently above her. ‘Hurry up and just fucking die already.’

     Bayley buckled her legs, making her whole body limp and heavy. The sudden change in momentum caught her attacker by surprise and he fell forward. They stumbled only a couple of steps but it was enough. Her foot landed against the wall, stopping their fall. Feeling her vision start to blur, she pulled her other leg up and, using the wall as a platform, she pushed back into her assailant. They fell backwards and Bayley felt relief as the grip around her throat loosened.

     Now free from the stranger’s grasp, she scrambled to her feet and began to run. Her counter did little to deter her attacker though as he gave chase, her discarded hammer now in his grasp.

     ‘I’m gonna kill you, you filthy piece of-‘ he shrieked after her.

     ‘HEEELLPP!!!’ Bayley screamed out, her throat tearing to shreds.

     ‘There’s nobody around, bitch. You’re dead! You’re fucking dead!’

     Tears were streaming down Bayley’s face as she heard the pounding of the stranger’s feet gaining on her. She couldn’t last much longer. Soon she would feel his arms around her again and this time, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She began to sob uncontrollably as she ran, trying her best to scream but nothing came from her lips.

     She flung herself around the corner of the wall and smashed straight into something solid.

     … and warm.

     She looked up into Finn’s radiant blue eyes. Relief and terror washed over her in equal measures.

     ‘Bayls, what the-?’

     ‘You’re mine now, bitch!’ The man’s voice bellowed out from around the corner. Finn grabbed Bayley and forced her behind him.

     ‘Finn, no!’ she tried to shout out.

     ‘I’ve got you!’ he said to her softly.

     Her mind was a chaotic mess. She could no longer think. She could no longer breath. She tried to block out everything around her. Grasping Finn’s leather jacket in her fists, she pulled in as close to him as she could and buried her face into his back. She closed off all of her senses. She could no longer see. She could no longer hear. She could only smell the scent of his leather jacket. She could only feel his heart beating in his chest. It was strong and soothing.

     It was getting faster.

     And faster.

     As the man rounded the corner, Finn’s pulse reached fever pitch, her heart threatening to leap into his throat as he recognised the figure before him.

     ‘Well, well, well,’ Seth Rollins said with a sadistic grin. ‘What are the chances?’

 

     Punk let out a huge sigh of relief as he plonked the heavy canisters onto the ground and removed the wooden yoke from around his shoulders.

     ‘You ok there, dude?’ one of his fellow stragglers at the back of the party asked.

     ‘I’m good,’ Punk reassured him. ‘Just need a break, that’s all.’

     ‘You want me to wait with you?’ the man offered.

     ‘No, it’s cool – it’s kinda, you know, a… call of the wild thing.’

     ‘Oh, I see,’ the man said as realisation dawned. ‘Cool, I’ll leave you to it.’

     ‘Thanks, I’ll catch up in a sec,’ Punk said and watched as the man turned to leave.

     Once he was sure that he was alone, Punk yanked his canisters down into an alleyway, hiding them safely behind a dumpster before speeding away from the rest of the party.

     He knew he had recognised these streets as they passed through on their way to the reservoir. His body, although exhausted, felt as light as a feather as he darted along, his feet instinctively taking him the way he wanted to go. He zoomed past the many faceless houses, the boarded-up stores and empty streets, each more familiar than the last.

   He rounded a corner and skidded to a halt. A small smile flashed across his face as he spotted the tall, white building, with its iron balcony railings. His eyes counted three balconies up and two along.

     It looked just like it did the first time he had been there, except there had been freshly washed lingerie draped across the railings to dry in the sun. He had caught her frantically gathering them up before he arrived. She had looked up and caught his eye. He was grinning wickedly at her and she threw her head back when she realised she’d been spotted.

     But now the railings were empty.

     That didn’t matter to Punk.

     It was still April’s apartment.

     ‘I’m coming, Ape,’ he said to himself and headed for door.


	34. A Man of his Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, things are heating up!  
> I must admit, these next two chapters were my favourite to write - I'm a bit of a sucker for a knight in shining armour coming in to save the day! Throw in a redemption arc and a fight to the death and you hit this wee weirdo's writing sweet-spot. Buckle up, guys, we're in for a rough ride.
> 
> The next two chapters were heavily inspired by 'Die For You' by Starset. I recommend listening to it with the song on repeat ;)

     Finn tried to calm his pounding heart as he stared back at Rollins, keeping his eyes trained on the Shield member for any sign of attack. He glanced down at the hammer in Seth’s hand and felt a cold sweat bead across his brow.

     ‘I should have known,’ Seth said, his voice dark and sinister. ‘I should have known it had something to do with _you_.’

     There was something different about the man, something unnerving. His beard was untamed and his two-toned hair was frizzing out from his scalp in spasms. But it was his eyes that caught Finn’s attention. Wide and bulging. Crazy. He looked like a wild animal, driven mad with starvation and disease. Focused solely on the prey that he wished to tear to pieces.

     ‘What have you done with them?’ Seth asked, taking a step towards him. Finn retreated a step, trying to keep a healthy distance between him and the crazed man, but Bayley at his back blocked any momentum. He stole a quick glance behind him and saw the young women had buried her face between his shoulder blades, her fingers grasping his jacket so tightly her knuckles were white.

     He had to get her away from here. From the moment he had first encountered Seth near the Floridian border, he knew he was dangerous. Quick, clever and calculating. Finn had gained the upper hand in that meeting, because he had ambushed the man and caught him unawares. In a fair, one-on-one bout, however, he had no clue what his chances would be.

     And that was when he was fully fit. With a fractured leg, his odds had dissolved to nothing.

     ‘Answer me you filthy piece of shit!’ Seth yelled out, tightening his grip around the hammer.

     The man’s fury was growing and in his current state that made him more unpredictable. More deadly. Finn was fully aware of just how much danger he and Bayley were in. If Seth chose to attack, chances were that neither of them would survive the onslaught.

     But there was another weapon he had in his arsenal. If he couldn’t fight his way out of this, perhaps he could talk his way out.

    ‘Seth, tell me what’s going on,’ Finn finally said, keeping his voice soft, calm. ‘Who are you talking about? What’s happened t’ye?’

     ‘DON’T PLAY DUMB WITH ME!’ Seth roared back. A shudder ripped through Finn’s body. ‘I know who you are. I know what you’re capable of. I’ve watched you. From the moment those two idiots saved your murderous ass, I’ve watched you.’

     ‘Seth, take a moment, breath, try to calm down and tell me-‘

     ‘NO, SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH! YOU LISTEN TO ME NOW!’

     Finn did as he was told. This was not going well.

     ‘I know you. You’re Prince Devitt. You’re a killer. I watched you kill over and over and over.’

     Finn felt his skin go cold as Seth spoke. He tried to glance back over his shoulder towards Bayley.

     ‘DON’T look at her! Look at me!’ Seth let out a maniacal chuckle. ‘She likes you doesn’t she?’ he said, pointing to Bayley. ‘Look at the way she grabs onto you, like you’re her knight in shining armour. Does she know who you really are? Does she know how you slaughter your enemies… your friends?’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

     ‘What do you want, Seth?’ Finn asked, grinding his teeth. He was getting angry now.

     ‘Where. Are. They?’ Seth asked, his voice a growl as he stomped closer to Finn. The Irishman pushed roughly against Bayley, forcing them back from the feral assassin.

     ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Finn said back, each word slow and threatening.

     ‘MY BROTHERS!!!’ Seth screamed. ‘WHAT DID YOU DO TO THEM?’

     The situation was escalating. The fight was about to break out any second. He had to find a way to get Bayley away from there.

     ‘I haven’t done anything to them,’ Finn answered. ‘I don’t even know what they look like!’

     ‘LIAR!!! FUCKING, MURDEROUS, LYING PIECE OF-‘

     Finn spun around and grabbed Bayley around the shoulders. ‘Bayley! Go! Get away! NOW!’ She slumped in his grasp, unresponsive. ‘BAYLEY!’

     Seth saw the perfect opportunity. He rushed forward while his foe’s back was turned. He flung the hammer back, ready to bring it crashing down on the Irishman’s skull. Finn heard him coming, just in time. Wrapping his arms around the Bayley’s limp body, he dived to the floor and rolled them out of harms way. Seth’s hammer smashed the hard earth where they had been moment before. The head of the hammer impaled the ground and became stuck. Seth let out a roar and with both hands, tried to pull the weapon free.

     ‘Bayls, wake up!’ Finn desperately grabbed the young women and shook her. ‘Bayley, please!’ His heart sank when she didn’t respond. He placed the back of his hand against her head. She was still warm. He placed his fingers on her neck. Her pulse was normal. He didn’t understand. There was nothing wrong with her. She had just… shut down completely.

     He looked behind him as Seth furiously tried to remove the hammer from the ground. All of his options had evaporated into smoke. He couldn’t calm Seth and he couldn’t get Bayley away from the danger. There was only one way this could go now.

     He had to fight Rollins.

     And he had to win.

 

     Colt heard a satisfying crack as he stretched out the muscles in his shoulders. Another hard day of work was in the bag and he could finally sit back with his friends and relax. After quickly washing his hands and face, he changed into a white Nocks T-shirt and made his way to the cafeteria. He smiled as he opened the door and walked in, remembering the night before fondly.

     Before the Event, Punk had been growing tired of the wrestling business. The constant travelling and grueling work rate he’d put in were starting to take their toll on his body. Barely a day went by where he wasn’t in pain and this made him moodier than ever. Which was why he barely seemed fazed that the atrocity nearly two years ago had ripped their very profession away from them. He had found something else to make his life complete… or rather, someone else.

     Colt on the other hand still cradled that fierce passion for wrestling that he had carried with him since childhood. All he had ever wanted to do was wrestle. He didn’t care about the money (or lack thereof), he didn’t care if the crowd he was entertaining was 20 people in a school gym, he just wanted to be between the ropes, putting on a show they would never forget. Losing that had hit him hard and being able to relive those moments, even if it was just the three of them on a bunch of old gym mats, had been just the medicine he had needed.

     Out of Punk, Finn and himself, he had taken to life in the small community of Nocks the easiest. He thrived when he was around people and already he had made friends with everybody in the refuge. Certainly, they found him to be the most approachable of the three newcomers. Punk, although clearly at peace within the fledgling community, was back to full health and itching to get out and start his search for April. It reminded Colt of how he was back with the Bullet Club – restless and fidgety. At least there wasn’t even a hint of paranoia this time around.

     As for Finn…

     It was difficult for Colt to see his friend so morose. He struggled daily with his injured leg, which only seemed to deepen his depression. It was heart-breaking to see the once strong, confident-bordering-on-arrogant, young man become a quiet, reclusive shell of his former self. Colt had tried to introduce him to people in the camp, Tye especially he thought would be a good fit to inject some energy into the Irishman, and although he was always polite, Finn rarely engaged in conversation. Colt felt at a loss at how to bring him out of his misery.

     Sasha had reassured Colt that once he began to heal, his demeanour would lighten and, truthfully, there had been an improvement in the past week. The other day he had found Finn in their room arched over a Lego set. The younger man had looked up at his close friend with a smile of childlike wonder and Colt felt a rush of relief. It was a start.

     Last night had been good for Finn too. It had got him out of their tiny room for a few hours and allowed him to have fun while also keeping his leg rested. He had been enraptured by the three former wrestlers demonstrating tricks from their old trade. It was also the first time that he had really spoken to Bayley and Colt had kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier. While Tye was indeed a ball of energy, he was erratic and flighty. Bayley was energetic herself but more grounded. A cheerful character but without being too loud or overpowering. They made a good fit and Finn had seemed to take a liking to her.

     This was confirmed when Colt was approached that morning by Tye, who said he would be working with him that day. When he told Colt that he was originally partnered with Bayley but that Finn had offered to help her instead, Colt nearly choked on his water. Whenever Finn dared to venture out of their room, he had stuck closely with Punk or himself. He was even still wary of being around Luci. Not once had he paired with another member of the community. To hear that not only was he with someone outwith their close circle, but that he had done it voluntarily was a revelation. After Colt had confirmed this information with Tye at least six times, he smiled widely.

     But it was cautious hope. As the morning ticked by, he expected Finn to show up back at the gym any minute. At lunch, he checked in on their room and was pleasantly surprised to find it empty. As the hours passed in the afternoon, he regularly checked the room, so much so that Tye asked him if he was feeling all right. Now, evening was here and Finn had still not returned. Colt took this as a good sign and felt a shaky sense of optimism that his friend had finally turned a corner.

     Colt walked towards the kitchen area of the canteen and helped himself to some food. Looking around the buzzing room, he found no sign of his friends and was mildly surprised when this saddened him. He saw Tye waving him over to a table with a free seat and eagerly took him up on his offer.

     ‘Hey partner,’ Tye greeted him as he sat down.

     ‘Hey partner,’ Colt replied. ‘Where did you disappear off to for the past three hours?’ Every one in the camp knew that Tye couldn’t focus on a single task for long and had a habit of wandering off to do something else.

     ‘Oh, you know, here and there,’ he replied. That was the standard Tye response. ‘Where your friends at, bro?’

     ‘Punk’s on the water run and Finn’s not back with Bayley yet,’ Colt told him.

     ‘They’d better hurry up,’ Tye said, looking out the window at the darkening day. ‘It’s not a good idea to be outside the walls by themselves after dark.’

     ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine,’ Colt said. ‘Probably on their way in now.’

     ‘You think they’re maybe doing it?’ Tye asked all of a sudden.

     Colt spat out a half chewed lettuce leaf. It landed squarely on the plate of the person directly opposite him. ‘Sorry, Dana,’ Colt choked out but she merely glared back at him, stiffly lifted her plate and walked away in disgust. ‘Dude, don’t say stuff like that!’

     ‘What? They might be.’

     ‘No, no they’re really not.’

     ‘How can you be sure? They’re alone, away from prying eyes…’

     ‘Stop, just stop!’

     ‘Why? What’s wrong with the two of them doing the beast with two backs-?’

     ‘NO! Look, I know Finn. He’s my buddy and we’ve been through so much together. He’s not the kind of guy to just… you know… _do_ … that kind of thing.’

     ‘She likes him.’

     That caught Colt off-guard.

     ‘Who?’

     ‘Finn,’ said Tye as if Colt was being a complete idiot.

     ‘Yeah, I got that part. Who likes Finn?’

     ‘Bayley.’

     Colt sat stunned for a while. He had not picked up on that at all, not even last night. ‘Really?’ he asked, his voice high pitched.

     ‘Yeah, she even leaves little presents in his room,’ Tye said with a smile. Seeing the look of disgust from Colt, he felt the need to clarify. ‘Not gross stuff! Cute stuff. Like books, magazines, she even got a Lego set for him.’

     ‘That was her?’ Colt asked in disbelief.

     ‘Yeah.’

     ‘How’d you know this?’

     ‘Dude, it’s obvious. She’s like a teenager with her first crush. Well that, and I overheard her telling Luci about it.’

     ‘I need to find Finn!’ Colt said, standing up with such a start that the table skidded forward an inch, letting out a high pitched screech.

     ‘Woah, wait, I really don’t think that-‘

     ‘I need to find him now,’ Colt said, no longer listening and marched straight to the door. Throwing it open, he stormed down the corridor towards the main entrance to the gym. ‘Out of the way,’ he yelled, flailing his arms wildly to force anyone in his path back against the wall. ‘This is an emergency!’

     ‘Colt? What’s wrong?’ Sasha was in his path.

     ‘Do you know where Finn is?’ Colt asked, frantically.

     ‘Last I heard, he was helping Bayley with the outer wall. I don’t think they’re back yet-‘

     ‘Thank you!’ Colt shot back and steered awkwardly past The Boss and along the corridor, leaving a bewildered Sasha behind him.

     Colt finally reached the main doors and barreled his way through them. Once again, he was blocked, but this time but a much taller and greater force than Sasha.

     ‘Fucking hell, Scotty!’ Luci scolded as he banged right into her. ‘Watch where you’re going.’

     ‘I need to find Finn,’ he said back, not paying attention.

     ‘Why? Something happen to him?’ Luci asked with concern.

     ‘He’s alone with Bayley,’ Colt finally stopped and looked at Luci with a panicked face.

     Luci stared back, taking in what he had just said. Finally, she let out a loud, obnoxious laugh.

     ‘And what’s so bad about that?’ she asked him.

     ‘Did you know that Bayley likes him?’ Colt spluttered. ‘But _likes_ likes him.’

     ‘Yeah, I’ve known for a while,’ Luci said.

     ‘Well, what if he’s not ready for something like that?’ Colt fretted. ‘What if she confesses her love for him and he says no and this brings him back to square one, after he was doing so well and then he goes and does something stupid and, like, maybe he’ll leave and he’ll get himself killed and-‘

     ‘Woah, woah, woah,’ Luci said, completely lost by Colt’s train of thought. ‘Take a breath, Scotty. In…‘ Colt breathed in a long, slow breath. ‘…good, and out.’ Colt exhaled. ‘Better?’

     ‘What if this breaks him mentally and, it just, it just shatters him on the inside and before we know it he turns into this kind of crazed…’

     ‘Ok, I’m taking you somewhere to calm the fuck down,’ Luci groaned and grabbing Colt by the shoulders, she led him down the side of the gym.

 

     Finn knew his first course of action.

     Get Seth away from Bayley.

     The Shield member was still trying to pull the head of his hammer out of the ground. Finn had to make the most of the opportunity. He could feel his heart thrashing inside his chest so viciously he feared his ribs would crack. But now was not the time for fear. He had to force it down, concentrate on the task in hand.

     Placing Bayley on the ground, he crouched down. Silently, he removed the brace from around his leg.

     ‘Bayls, I swear that I will protect you.’ His voice was barely above a whisper.

     _One._ He took a deep breath.

     _Two._ He fixed his gaze on Seth.

     _Three!_

He made a dash for Rollins. The former Shield member never saw him coming. Wrapping his arms around Seth’s neck he executed a perfect sling blade and brought him crashing to the ground. Instantly, Finn’s leg howled out in pain.

   _Already? Ignore it, Devitt. Stay focused. He won’t be down for long._

Finn’s fears proved true. Rollins was already getting back to his feet. The plan had worked though and his murderous glare was fixed solely on the Irishman.

     _Go!_

Finn turned and tore off, sprinting as fast as he could. Boiling acid seared in his leg. Burning its way around his shin before spilling into his thigh. He gritted his teeth and pushed on. He glanced over his shoulder briefly to make sure Seth was taking the bait.

     He had.

     And he had already caught him.

     Finn’s glance captured the flash second before Seth’s arms wrapped around his chest and tackled him to the ground. They both went tumbling across the asphalt, like a pair of dice hurled by a drunken gambler. Finn could only watch as the world around him spun uncontrollably. Finally, the ground decided to calibrate the Irishman and brutally threw itself against his prone body. Finn went skidding across the unforgiving concrete and finally came to a rest.

     Everything hurt!

     He groaned out in agony as he tried to push himself up onto his elbows. His groan turned into a choke of pain as his body seethed in protest. As his vision stopped spinning, the first thing he could make out was his right arm. The concrete floor had ripped open the sleeve of his leather jacket and shredded the skin underneath. It stung like a nettle bite.

     Finn snapped back to reality as he felt a boot rest at the back of his neck. It pushed down. Meaning to slam his prone face against the concrete. On instinct alone, Finn rolled. Seth’s foot slipped off Finn’s neck and stumbled to right itself on the ground.

     Finn had rolled the wrong way. He was now trapped squarely beneath Rollins, blocked on either side by the Shield member’s feet. His adversary had taken a nasty bump from the fall too yet was already back to a vertical base and baying for the Irishman’s blood. He was quicker than Finn could ever have imagined.

   Rollins cackled above him. Lifting his foot, he aimed for Finn’s face. Finn grabbed it with both hands and twisted. The momentum brought Seth down to his level once more leaving Finn enough time to roll to the left and onto his feet. With a grunt, Seth was up and facing him.

     The night was growing dark and the shadows danced around Rollins, making his look like some kind of spectre in the gloom.

     But Finn was not afraid of monsters.

     He was one.

     He rushed towards Seth, swinging his good leg around, aiming to buckle his foe’s knee. Rollins caught Finn’s leg, but the Irishman spun out of his grasp. Seth tried next with a left hook, but Finn ducked. Finn retaliated with a fist of his own but Seth leaned back and the blow hit air. With cat-like speed, Rollins crouched low and swept his leg beneath Finn, who saw it coming and managed to jump over it safely. They each took turns trading blow and each time, they came up short.

     Stepping back, they caught their breaths.

     Finn scanned every inch of Rollins, taking in any injuries his adversary had sustained, looking for any weaknesses, any soft spots he could destroy. But he was well aware that Rollins was doing the same to him. Even though his leg was burning with pain, he forced himself to stand on it, to walk on it, fight on it. Hide it from Seth’s scanning eye. The moment Seth figured it out would be the moment Finn would lose the battle. He locked eyes with Rollins and watched as the two-toned haired man sniggered at him.

     ‘You’re different,’ he leered. ‘Those two goons you hang around with only pretend to fight. You, though, you’re the real deal. Guess you don’t become leader of the Bullet Club for nothing huh?’ He stretched out his arms, his fingers interlocking. Finn heard Seth’s knuckles crack. ‘This should be fun.’

     Finn waited for Seth to make the first move. He had to see his opponent move, analyse his attacks and find the gaps he could exploit. The pair circled each other for a few more seconds before coming to a halt. If looks could kill, the fight would have been over there and then.

     Seth finally broke the stalemate. He burst forward, running straight towards Finn. The Irishman watched with a calm and steady head, studying the oncoming attack. He only had half a second to spot the gap. Just as Seth was upon him, Finn brought his good leg up and kneed his opponent in the mid-drift. Rollins doubled over and fell to the floor. Finn was on him straight away. Grabbing Seth’s leg, he twisted it mercilessly. He heard the Shield member scream behind him.

     _Need to slow him down. If I tear a muscle in his leg - good. If I break a bone - better!_

He felt Seth struggle against his grasp but he had him in an awkward position, lying face down on the ground, while Finn straddled his lower back. Each time, Seth tried to jerk away, Finn forced him back into place and kept his grip firm. When he felt his opponent beneath him, go still, Finn knew something was wrong.

     Too late!

     Seth’s arm snaked around Finn’s neck and yanked him down to the floor. Before he had a chance to react, Seth was on top of him, pinning him down. Finn felt a fist collide with the side of his face and his world spun. Another blow rocked his senses followed by another.

     _You wasted your turn, Devitt,_ he scolded himself as the skin beneath his eye split. _Trying to be too clever. You’re not fighting for points… you’re fighting to survive._

Seth’s fist was unrelenting, smashing into Finn’s skull like a wrecking ball. On feeling his lip burst, Finn growled angrily. When the next blow rattled his temple, he roared.

     He struck out with his legs, pulling them back and under Seth’s shoulder. Rollins was startled as Finn’s legs pulled him backwards and onto the ground once more. This time, it was Finn’s turn to straddle him, and in his fury, the Irishman released a barrage of blows onto Seth’s head. Rollins tried to shield himself with his forearms, but only managed to block a handful of Finn’s strikes. Within moments, his face was as bruised and bloodied as his opponent.

     Finn was so engrossed in his beat down of Seth that he only became aware of his opponent’s legs creeping up on him at the last second. Seth was a quick learner and was clearly hoping that what had worked for Finn would also work for him. As the Shield member’s feet hooked themselves under Finn’s shoulders, the Irishman abandoned his position and quickly rolled backwards and onto his feet, away from the danger.

     _Keep on him!_

Seth barely managed to pull himself up to a sitting position before Finn struck, taking a running leap and slamming his two feet into Rollins’ chest. Rollins fell and smacked the back of his head off the ground. Finn scrambled away and watched warily to see if he had finally downed his opponent.

    No! Seth’s arm flopped to the back of his head, searching for any blood.

     _Again!_

Finn sprinted towards Rollins and planted both feet into the man’s sternum. He felt something snap beneath his sneaker and Seth screamed like a banshee. _Hopefully that was a rib, or his collarbone._

His nemesis was down and Finn allowed himself to catch his breath. His body felt limp and was wracked with pain. His throbbing in his leg had intensified to the extent that it was almost completely numb. Only muscle memory was keeping it moving in time with the rest of his limbs.

     He couldn’t rest for long. Seth was hurt but he was not out for the count. Finn could see him fidgeting on the ground, his ribs rising and falling rapidly as he tried to gasp in air.

    With great effort, Finn dragged himself to his feet. Horror struck him as he felt his bad leg begin to buckle beneath him. Swiftly, he shifted his weight to his good leg in the hope that Seth wouldn’t notice. He walked toward Seth’s prone form on the ground, forcing his fractured leg to take his weight. He gritted his teeth, praying that his face was not betraying the pain that shot through him each time he took a step. He clutched his side, hoping to divert Seth’s attention to his ribs instead.

     On the ground, Seth smiled up at his foe, his teeth shining red with his own blood. He gurgled from the back of his throat as he began to laugh.

     ‘Something funny?’ Finn asked coldly, his eyes as harsh as ice.

     ‘I thought something was different,’ Seth spluttered back, swiveling his head to the side so he could spit out a clot of blood.

     ‘Different?’ Finn asked. When Seth refused to answer, he kicked him brutally in the side. He had no choice but to use his bad leg and the pain ripped through his body. He grunted and grabbed his ribs tighter, pleading that Rollins fell for the rouse.

     ‘From the last time we met,’ Seth went on to explain. The night around them went silent. ‘You’ve lost a step.’

   His boot collided with Finn’s shin.

 

     ‘Better?’ Luci asked Colt.

     ‘Better,’ Colt replied through the deep breaths he was taking.

     Luci had taken the Chicago native to the roof of the gym where they watched the night draw in, just like her and Punk had done a few short weeks ago.

     ‘So what was that back there?’ Luci asked.

     ‘I don’t really know,’ Colt said, shaking his head.

     ‘I know you’re worried about your friend,’ Luci said in a calming voice.

     ‘It’s just, he’s been in such a dark place since we got here,’ Colt tried to explain. ‘And he was just starting to turn a corner. I didn’t want anything to disrupt that.’

     ‘Bayley’s a good kid,’ Luci told him, ‘and believe it or not, she understands pain and darkness better than anybody else here. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt Finn.’

     ‘I know that,’ Colt confessed. ‘It wasn’t even that big a deal or anything, I just… panicked.’

     ‘You ever done that before?’

     Colt lowered his head. ‘Yes. Once. A while back.’

     ‘What happened?’

     ‘Nothing, it’s stupid.’

     ‘Hey, none of that macho bullshit, alright?’ Luci scolded. ‘It’s just us, we’re up here, away from prying ears. Talk. Share the load.’

     Colt sat silently for a few minutes, concentrating on his breathing. Finally, as he let out a long, lingering breath, he began to speak.

     ‘I was almost shot.’ Luci nodded, urging him to continue. ‘It was after we left Masons. We went on a raid, got cornered by these guys, one of them had a shotgun. Looking back, if the guy had wanted to kill me, he would have. He just wanted to scare us… well, it fucking worked.’

     ‘How did you get away?’

     ‘Punk, of course. Him and his quick thinking.’

     ‘While you had a panic attack?’

     ‘No, it wasn’t then. That came later. But that moment when the shot missed my head by inches… it set something off in me. I still relive it over and over and just think how close I came to having my brains blown out. I feel that fear inside me every day, Lu.’ He turned to face Luci and she saw the panic in his wide, glassy eyes. ‘Every day,’ he repeated. ‘Like it’s just bubbling under the surface. I try to keep it down, man I try, but… you know those cartoons where Bugs Bunny or someone is in the boat and it springs a leak so he plugs it with his finger?’ Luci nodded, seeing where this was going. ‘But then another leak springs up and another and soon he’s outta fingers to plug it and the ship fills with water. That’s how I’m feeling every minute of every day. Sometimes I think it’ll just be easier to let the water in and drown.’

     He felt a warm, comforting arm wrap itself around his shoulders. ‘You can’t let that happen,’ Luci said as she tightened her grip. ‘We need you, Colt. Punk needs you right now, more than anyone.’

     ‘No, he doesn’t,’ Colt said sullenly.

     ‘Yes, he does-‘

   ‘NO! He doesn’t,’ Colt insisted. Luci unfurled her arm and looked at Colt with confusion. ‘Lu… I turned my back on him.’

     Now she was shocked. ‘When? How?’

     ‘When we met Finn and the Bullet Club. Finn gave me an offer to join the Bullet Club and I said yes.’

     Luci was speechless. ‘But you changed your mind?’ she offered hopefully.

     ‘Not by choice,’ he confessed, ‘and I had plenty of chances too. Punk begged me not to join, over and over again and I refused every time. Even though it would leave him to face the Shield alone, even though it would put him in danger. Hell, I watched Finn beat the shit out of him and I still chose the Bullet Club over the guy who’s supposed to be my best friend.’

   Luci was stunned to silence. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It sounded like the actions of a stranger.

     ‘Punk never gave up though,’ Colt said with a wry smile. ‘Even when he finally found a way out of the camp, he came to me and pleaded for me to go with him. Again, what did I say? No. All’s it took was a hostile takeover and yet _another_ near-death experience for me to finally see sense.

     ‘So, you say Punk needs me? No, he doesn’t. What kind of man does that to the one guy that’s always stuck by him, that’s always believed in him and, fuck, saved his life more times than he can count. He doesn’t need me. In fact, he’s better off without me.’

     Colt suddenly felt the weight of his words. All of the feeling of remorse and guilt had built up and finally spilled over his defenses. He felt his emotions get the better of him. He hid his face with his hands as moisture filled his eyes.

    ‘You were scared, Colt,’ Luci finally spoke.

     Colt listened, keeping his head in his hands.

     ‘You said it yourself, the fear was eating away at you from the inside. Fear can cloud anyone’s judgment and make them do selfish things, it’s in our nature.’ She looked at him but he refused to meet her eye. ‘I’ve been with you two since the beginning and I know you both better than I probably should.’ She laughed dryly. ‘Since Punk arrived at New Chicago, you’ve been the strong one. You stood up for him and protected him as best you could from all the politics and bullshit of that place. When you made the decision to leave your post and join him on the road… that took a lotta guts. You knew Bischoff would be out baying for your blood but you did it anyway, because you knew it was the right thing to do. To stick by your friend.’

     Colt lowered his hands.

     ‘You said that Punk’s saved your life more times than you can count. Well, he owes you too. If it wasn’t for you, he would have died from that infection.’

     ‘That wasn’t me, that was you.’

     ‘You were the one who asked for my help,’ Luci corrected him. ‘You were the one who nursed him, fed him, got him those antibiotics. He would have died long before I intervened if it hadn’t been for you.’

     ‘…if you say so…’

     ‘You were his protector. In your head, at least. If Punk was in any kind of trouble, you would see him out of it. That’s why, when you began to feel that fear, you began to doubt yourself.’

     ‘What do you mean?’ Colt asked, confused.

     ‘How can you be the strong one, the protector, when you can’t even control your own fear? When, every time you go near a town, your mind gets all frazzled and you start to panic? When you can’t hear a twig snap in the woods without jumping? You suddenly swapped roles. Punk was the protector and you were the one who needed protection. As time passed, Punk didn’t feel enough to keep you safe. So you looked elsewhere. The Bullet Club. Finn. They made you feel secure so you gravitated towards them.’

     Colt was silent.

     ‘You never turned your back on Punk. You had a blip and let your fear control your actions for once.’

     ‘But, what about-‘

     ‘You got him here to Tampa, didn’t you?’ Luci turned on Colt.

     ‘… yeah.’

     ‘Through, I imagine, many more misadventures and perils, right?’

     ‘Yeah,’ Colt suppressed a shiver at the thought of the compound. None of the three men had dared whisper a word of what they’d seen in that place since their narrow escape.

     ‘So, how can you say that you turned your back on him? You’ve stood by him.’ She smiled warmly at Colt. ‘You’re his best friend.’

     Finally, Colt looked back at her, his eyes puffy. ‘I guess, you’re right,’ he said with a shrug.

     ‘I always am,’ Luci said smugly back. ‘Now, going back to what I said before. I know why you’re worried about Finn. He’s the guy you’ve designated as your ‘protector’ these days so when he’s hurt like this, you’re gonna feel that fear creeping its way back to you. But trust me, Finn is resilient. Hell, you seen that guy – he’s made from fucking marble or something.’

     ‘Lu…’ Colt scolded, scrunching up his nose.

     ‘He’ll be fine,’ Luci reassured Colt with a laugh. ‘He’s probably just out there having such a great time with Bayley that he hasn’t even noticed the time.’

     ‘I guess you’re right.’

 

     Finn bawled out his pain as his legs buckled and he hit the floor. He clutched his leg in agony, all the while Seth’s laughter ringing in his ears. He could do nothing but watch as Seth got to his feet and edged his way closer.

     ‘You nearly had me fooled, killer,’ Seth taunted from above. He struck out and kicked Finn in the ribs with such force that he flipped onto his front. ‘It took me a while to figure out it was your leg slowing you down.’

     Breathing heavily, Finn tried to force himself up onto his knees. Another kick from Seth rocked through his torso and spun him onto his back again. The wind was knocked from the Irishman. ‘Imagine if we had actually fought back when we first met. When you were 100%. How’d you think that would pan out?’

     From below on the ground, Finn choked out a whisper, too soft for Seth to hear.

     ‘What was that, Irish?’ Seth taunted, crouching on his haunches to hear his victim better.

     Finn’s eyes were shut tight, his breathing desperate and raspy. Blood poured down the bruises on his face.

     ‘Well?’ Seth asked, leaning over the prone man.

     ‘You’d still lose,’ Finn rasped out. His good leg kicked out and caught Seth in the knee. Rollins fell back and grabbed his leg, giving Finn enough time to roll onto his front once more and push himself up to his knees. He took a second to breath and to will his broken body on for a little longer when he became aware of a bone-chilling noise only a short distance away. With eyes wide with horror, he looked to his right and saw the source of the noise.

     Bayley was mere feet away from them.

     And she was waking up.

     ‘BAYL-‘ Finn tried to shout her name but his throat closed up.

     ‘…Fiiii…’ she murmured. She was in the exact same position he had left her, lying flat against the ground, close to the wall of the camp. Her eyes were still closed and when she tried to rub them, her hand flopped around like a fish on dry land. She was completely out of it.

     ‘You sneaky fucking asshole.’ Finn’s heart sank as he heard Seth’s voice directly to his left. The Shield member was already back to his feet and was shaking off the pain in his knee. Finn had barely made a dent in his opponent’s armour and now he had unknowingly lead the fight right back to Bayley. The blood pumping frantically around his body was turning ice cold.

     ‘I clocked the wrong fucking leg,’ Seth laughed as he made his way back towards Finn. ‘I guess it’s a 50/50 guess, huh? You sold it really well though. I genuinely thought I’d hit your injured leg. Now I know exactly where your weakness lies-‘ Seth stopped in his tracks as he took in the sight before him. ‘Or do I?’ He said with a wicked smile.

     Finn was crouched on the ground, poised on his one good leg, his arms outstretched. Seth didn’t understand the strange gesture at first until he saw the figure directly behind him and it all clicked into place.

     ‘You really think you can protect her?’ Rollins sneered with malice.

     ‘I’m a man of my word,’ Finn said defiantly.

     Seth chuckled a humourless laugh. ‘I’m gonna batter her brains out.’

     ‘You’ll have to kill me first,’ Finn snarled back.

     ‘That was the plan,’ Seth scoffed.

     On cue, both men made a dash for one another. The preliminaries were over and the main event was here. Whoever won this round would be claimed the victor.

     The only one left alive.


	35. To Slay The Demon King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 35 Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-35-cover-830074744?ga_submit_new=10%3A1581423846)   
> Here's a little something for DeerWorks - TWO chapters to sink your teeth into. Enjoy!

     The darkness swam around Bayley and she buried herself in it. She had come to love the darkness. It was warm. It was comforting. It shut her off from everything around her.

     She had no idea when she became separated from Finn. It was only when she realised she couldn’t feel the rough material of his leather jacket between her fingers, or smell his earthy musk that something was wrong. She began to grow scared. She called out to the darkness but received no answers.

   She had to leave and make her way back to the light. Slowly, the darkness began to dissolve around her.

     Her eyes opened and she found herself outside.

     How long had she been out?

     She tried to move her limbs but they were numb and limp.

   Through hazy vision, she could make out two black shapes dancing around in the sky. They darted in every direction, as if engaged in some dance. They were mesmerising. She reached out and tried to touch them but her arm wobbled around like jelly. She made do with stretching her arm out across the floor, hoping to entice the colours to her like birds to breadcrumbs.

     The colours collided and one of them fell to the floor with a nasty bump. A splash of red burst from it.

     ‘You… fell…?’ Bayley managed to hush out.

     All of a sudden, two orbs of ice blue grew out of the black shape and pierced right through her. Bayley became aware of a warm, trembling and very solid hand grasping her own.

     ‘Bayley?’ a voice said beside her. _His_ voice!

     ‘Finn?’ she gasped. Her brain began to understand the shapes, helping her to sharpen her sight. The black became Finn’s jacket, the blue grew into his eyes, wide with adrenaline. With a jolt, she saw the red streaked across his face and chest and finally understood that it was his own blood.

     She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off when she saw the other colour creeping its way towards them. As it grew closer it materialised into a terrifying figure, bulging eyes popping from its crimson smeared face. It wore a satanic grin stretched from ear-to-ear. Its manic gaze was transfixed on Finn.

     ‘Ffffiiiii….’ she tried to warn him as she recognised the man who had attacked her earlier.

     But it was too late.

     She could only watch as an arm coiled its way around Finn’s throat and yanked him away from her.    

     ‘FIIIIIINNNNNN!!!!’

 

     ‘Hey, look, you see that?’ Luci said, batting Colt on the arm. When the former wrestler winced and grabbed his upper arm she scolded him. ‘Oh, stop being such a baby. Well, you see it or not?’

     ‘What?’ Colt shot back. ‘All’s I see is some crazy lady who gets her kicks from hitting people.’

     ‘Look,’ Luci said, pointing. ‘It’s the water run coming back. Come on, why don’t we go see how Punk got on with his first run?’

     She stood up and began to make her way down off the roof when she heard Colt scoff loudly behind her. She turned around slowly, fixing him with a stern glare.

     ‘You got something to say?’ she asked, darkly.

     ‘Yeah,’ Colt shot back. ‘When you say ‘we’ you really meant _me_ , right?’ He pointed to himself to emphasise the point. ‘ _I’ll_ go see him while you disappear into the shadows again.’

     ‘What are you talking about?’ Luci asked, feigning ignorance.

     ‘This is the first time I’ve seen you in weeks,’ Colt said, irritably. ‘And don’t feed me some line about you being busy or out on watch because I know the real deal.’ He paused and watched as Luci visibly squirmed. ‘What happened between you and Punk?’

     ‘Why don’t you just butt out?’ Luci spat at him.

     ‘Now, now, none of that macho bullshit,’ Colt said with a grin, mirroring her words to him earlier. ‘Share the load.’

     ‘I don’t want to.’

     ‘Well, either you tell me,’ Colt shrugged, ‘… or I can just go ask Punk.’

     Luci screwed up her face so tight that Colt feared her entire head would crumple in on itself. He watched as her face turned red then beetroot then a deep shade of purple. She bunched up her fists and clenched them so hard they were shaking. The pressure was building inside of her and she was starting to boil over.

     ‘FINE!’ she shrieked and swung around, kicking a small tin chimney so hard that its lid went pinging off and spiraled away into the night. Colt sat motionless, hoping that if he kept still, like they said in the movies, the big, scary monster might not see him.

     ‘WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY, HUH?’

     Nope, she had spotted him!

     ‘WELL, WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?’

     ‘Uh…’ Colt squeaked. He’d gotten so used to having the tiger in the house that he’d forgotten she was a wild animal, with fangs and claws.

     ‘DO YOU WANT ME TO TELL YOU ALL THE GORY DETAILS? LIKE HOW HE REJECTED ME LIKE YESTERDAY’S GARBAGE… AGAIN!!! LIKE HOW SHITTY I FELT! YOU WANT ME TO CRY ABOUT HOW HE Loves Somebody Else! How he only has eyes for her. How every time he says her name it’s like somebody stabbing me in the chest over and over and…’

     She turned away.

     Colt sat still, shocked by the whole display. He knew he had touched a nerve but he had no idea how exposed it really was.

     ‘You know the dumbest thing?’ Luci sighed, keeping her back to him. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. ‘I can’t let him go.’

     A silence lingered in the air. Colt needed to break the tension.

     ‘Why?’ he asked gently.

     She glanced over her shoulder slightly. For a split second it looked as if she was ready to confess something then shook her head.

     ‘Because I am just an idiot.’

     ‘Hey, woah,’ Colt said softly as he finally stood up. He gingerly made his way towards her, wary that she could turn and slash his face any second if she wanted. ‘You’re not an idiot.’ He reached her back and opened his arms, intending to hug her then quickly retracted them, spooked by her earlier outburst. He did this dance a couple more times before finally taking the plunge and wrapping his arms around her tightly. To his surprise, she did not try to bat him away.

     ‘You told me that fear does strange things to a person. Makes them do and think and feel stupid things. Love does that too, you know?’ She stayed silent as the wind whipped passed them. ‘I once liked this girl so much that I spent over three hundred dollars on this giant stuffed bear and whenever you squeezed it, it spoke in my voice.’ He paused, waiting to see if that got a reaction from Luci. It didn’t. ‘It said ‘To my Kitty-Cat, lots of love from your Snuggle-Bear’-‘

     ‘Shut up, Scott.’

     ‘Ok. Shutting up.’

     The pair stayed in their embrace as the night closed in around them.

 

     Finn had dragged his body to the brink of exhaustion then forced it even further. He felt as if his mind had clocked out and left the rest of him on autopilot. He was amazed how he was still able to function and figured it was all just muscle memory working on knee jerk reactions.

     He desperately hoped that his opponent was feeling the same effects of fatigue but Seth didn’t even seem to be slowing down. Finn couldn’t figure out if it was a man he was fighting, or some kind of machine. The sweat on Seth’s brow would seem to indicate he was human, but the speed with which he barraged the Irishman would suggest otherwise.

     Their battle had been intense and at such a frantic pace that Finn felt dizzy. For all of his experience in combat, he had never faced anything like it, even when he had fought Orton. In almost all of his previous clashes, Finn had been the smaller of the two opponents. He was athletic but didn’t boast size or power in his arsenal so he relied on his quickness and agility to dazzle his foes and take them down fast. Speed was his friend and most bouts rarely lasted more than a few minutes.

     The closest time he had come to an opponent like Rollins was when he had faced Styles. Both men were a similar size and build and both preferred to fight with speed instead of power. The main difference was that Finn knew Styles so well that he was aware of every move the man could bring. Yet, even with that knowledge, it had been a close fight and although Finn had won, he’d almost lost his head to a bullet in the process. The scar that ripped across his temple was a stark reminder of that.

     Rollins was an unknown. Even when Finn seemed to have figured out his next move, he would pull something out of the bag that was completely unexpected. If Finn raised his arms to block his torso, Rollins would sweep his legs. If it looked as if Rollins was about to kick him in the ribs, he would jab him in the jaw.

     The ground around them was streaked with blood, most of it Finn’s. Yet the Irishman was still standing, still fighting and he refused to give up. His opponent had superhuman stamina yet here he was, keeping pace with the man.

     Seth struck out with his boot raised high. Finn saw it coming and ducked. Seth’s momentum carried him to Finn’s back and by the time he’d turned around, the Irishman was on him, landing searing jabs in his mid-drift. With lightning speed, Finn spun and executed a roundhouse kick with his bad leg. Seth was ready and caught Finn’s sneaker in his two hands. Finn was undeterred and used Seth’s grasp as a platform to lift his other leg and kick the Shield member right across the side of his head.

     Both men tumbled to the ground.

     Finn tried to gasp some air into his burning lungs. He used the palm of his hand to wipe away the blood seeping into his eyes.

     _Up, Devitt! Get up!_

He pulled himself up onto one leg. Then the other.

     He stumbled for a moment as his body righted itself. He gauged his surroundings.

     His heart pounded when he noticed Rollins was still down.

     _Get on him!_

     Finn lurched towards Seth, his teeth gnashed tight.

     This had to end!

     It had to!

     His fingers tangled into Seth’s hair, grasping chunks of it and holding it tight. He pulled back his bad leg, meaning to knee his opponent as brutally in the face as he could.

     Something solid and cold smashed into the side of his torso. The crack of his ribs breaking pierced the air like canon fire. He fell to one knee. The shock of the blow froze him in place. Time began to grind to a halt.

     Seth saw the opening and struck with the hammer once more, landing a blow that cuffed the side of Finn’s forehead. The world blinked around Finn like static as time began to slowly tick once more. He felt himself falling, slowly at first, almost like he was floating but then getting faster and faster and…

     He smacked against the ground with a crunching thump.

     His head was swimming, the current pulling and pushing him from every direction. He couldn’t tell which way was up, which way was right, which way was left. All he could make out was down. He liked down. His battered body agreed. He could easily stay down.

     _No, Devitt! Not yet! Up! Up!_

He had no idea where the energy came from. Perhaps some small, untapped pool from deep within him, but he drew from it what he needed to maneuver his hands beneath his torso and push himself up. His arms shook like skyscrapers in an earthquake but they stayed strong and helped him up to his elbows.

     Seth planted his boot on Finn’s neck and smashed his face to the ground.

     It was over.

     Seth’s voice rattled around Finn’s skull.

     ‘Motherfucker, pulled out a clump of my fucking hair,’ Seth spat. ‘Never mind, you’re finished now. Must admit, you put up a hell of a fight. But you’re hanging with the big boys now. Must be embarrassing, huh? The big, bad wolf beaten by a little doggy?’

     Seth’s words hazed in and out, like a badly tuned radio. Finn was trying to organise his jumbled brain. His body had shut down, even his vision was malfunctioning, flickering back and forth, trying to find focus.

     _It’s finally happening_ ,’ he thought to himself. _This is what dying feels like._

He found it strangely comforting. The pain was leaving his body. His eyelids gently closed, ready to rest after thirty years of service. He could even hear the angels whisper.

     _‘You… fell…?’_

No, not angels!

     He heaved his aching head up. It flopped around on his neck like a bobble head doll.

     ‘Bayley,’ he rasped out. He stretched out a hand wet with his own blood, trembling violently. It fluttered against something soft as silk. His hand wrapped around hers and he found the strength to grasp it tightly.

     ‘Ffffiiiii….’

     Something wound its way around Finn’s neck and wrenched him away from her. He was forced up onto his feet. His injured leg had finally lost its patience and let out a gruesome scream that only Finn could hear.

     ‘FIIIIIINNNNNN!!!!’

     ‘Well, lookee here.’ Seth was so close Finn could feel his hot breath in his ear. His legs gave out and his body slumped. Seth grunted impatiently and jerked his arm to force the Irishman onto his feet again. ‘Wake up, _Prince!_ Your damsel is back in the land of the living.’

     Finn’s body drooped once more. Seth gave up and let go of the former Bullet Club leader. He collapsed to the floor with the grace of a sack of potatoes, landing right next to Bayley.

     The sight of the man she had been laughing and joking with only moments before, now a broken, bloody mess snapped her from her stupour. Her head cleared and panic set in. She grabbed hold of the lapels of his leather jacket and shook him desperately.

     ‘Finn! Wake up! Please, wake up!’ she cried out, tears filling her eyes.

     ‘Oh he’s awake, sweetheart,’ Seth teased her. ‘He’s just a little out of sorts. Blow to the head can do that.’ He laughed at his little joke as he threw the hammer in the air, catching it again with gleeful malice. ‘Don’t worry though, I have just the thing to remedy him, right here.’ He brandished the hammer with evil intent. ‘A few, little whacks and he won’t feel any more pain.’

     ‘STAY AWAY FROM HIM!’ Bayley screamed. She made a move towards Seth but her legs hadn’t woken up yet and she toppled to the ground. Seth burst out laughing at the sight.

   ‘Such grace,’ he taunted as he slowly walked towards Finn. Bayley frantically threw herself across Finn’s vulnerable body, a last gasp effort to save him. ‘Get off!’ Seth growled, grabbing hold of her ponytail. As Bayley was dragged away by her hair, her cries of pain tore into Finn’s splitting head. It felt as if someone was using a white-hot iron to brand the inside of his skull.

     Seth crouched down and placed one knee on Finn’s neck. His opponent may be down but he couldn’t be too careful. He tested the weight of the hammer in his hand as he smirked across at Bayley looking on helplessly.

     ‘Now I want you to watch this closely sweetheart,’ Seth grinned. ‘Because once I’m finished with your brave little knight here, you’re next.’

     The tears started streaming down Bayley’s face as she watched Seth place the hammer against Finn’s temple. He pulled it back, arching the vicious weapon over his head before releasing the blow.

     Bayley let out a blood-curdling scream.

     Seth laughed wildly.

     ‘That was just a practice shot,’ Seth cackled. The hammer had come to a stop just an inch above Finn’s head. It hung there, poised like the sword of Damocles. ‘Now, for the real thing.’

     Seth brought his arm back up. This time there was no doubt that he was going for the killer blow. He swung his arm down with such force and fury that it would smash Finn’s prone skull into shards.

     The hammer froze.

     Trembling in the air.

     Bayley gasped.

     Seth snarled with frustration.

   Finn’s hand gripped the head of the hammer firmly, stopping it in its tracks. His hand, even though it was shaking, remained strong. Seth looked down and found Finn with one eye open, the ice blue orb staring daggers at the Shield member. His lips were pulled back, baring his teeth in a feral snarl.

     But what Seth couldn’t see was an old, familiar fire rising in the pit of Finn’s stomach.

 

     Colt and Luci stood still in their embrace, letting the night wash over them. Colt let out a shiver as the darkness took a firm hold of the city and started to feel a little awkward.

     ‘Soooo… how long are we-‘

     ‘That’s enough,’ Luci said sharply.

     ‘Cool,’ Colt said, stepping back and taking his arms off of her. ‘You feel better?’

     Luci paused. ‘No,’ she said, honestly. ‘You?’

     ‘A little,’ Colt confessed. ‘Thanks for the talk.’

     ‘Any time, Scotty.’

     ‘You know, we’ve all missed you these past few weeks,’ he said.

     ‘I’ve missed you too-‘ Luci stopped suddenly and froze. ‘Did you hear that?’ she asked with urgency.

     Colt went silent and craned his ears. All he could hear was the stillness of night. ‘No, I don’t hear any-‘

     There it was!

     There was no mistaking it. It ripped through the windless night.

     A woman screaming!

     ‘It’s Bayley!’ Luci gasped and bolted towards the ladder leading down to the ground. She stopped only when she saw Colt pinned to the same spot. ‘Well? COME ON!’

     Colt didn’t need to be told twice and rapidly followed Luci down the ladder.

 

   The whole world stood still in that moment. Finn on the ground, a mess of blood and bruises, his defiant arm straight in the air while his busted knuckles gnarled around the head of the hammer. Seth stared down at the Irishman with a look of pure poison. The frustration boiled up inside him.

     ‘WHY WON’T YOU JUST STAY DOWN!’ he screamed, releasing a shower of spittle over his disobedient prey. ‘FUCKING DIE ALREADY!’

     Bayley removed her hands from her face to finally look up at the scene. ‘Finn,’ she gasped as her heart somersaulted.

     Finn didn’t hear her, however. His full focus was on the man looming above him, the man who was obsessed with ending his life once and for all, and how he was going to take his weapon away from him. Tightening his grip on the hammer, Finn tried to rip the implement out of Seth’s grasp. Rollins let out a fierce growl on sensing Finn’s intentions, and jumped to his feet. Using the extra leverage, he overpowered Finn and managed to seize his weapon back.

     Rollins refused to give Finn any breathing space and burst forward, hammer raised, aiming to bring it down on the vulnerable man’s body. He didn’t care if he hit skull, ribs or limbs, any bones he could shatter would be a sweet reward for his efforts.

     But Finn was ready. Once Rollins was close enough, Finn rolled onto his back, knees bunched up to his chest. He grabbed Seth by his wrists and thrust his feet into Seth’s mid-drift, catapulting the man over him. Seth went flying through the air for a few short seconds, before hitting the ground with a crunch.

     Finn found his feet and made a pounce for his fallen opponent. From the floor, Seth’s boot lashed out. Finn dodged back out of harm’s way. That kick had been intended for his fractured leg. Finn went on the attack again and once more, Seth let fly a brutal kick. Finn caught Seth’s boot and grabbed it with both hands. Seth pulled his foot back, unbalancing the Irishman as he fell forward. With a grunt Seth pushed with all his might and Finn went sprawling onto his back.

     A slight break in the action allowed both men to make it to their feet. Bayley watched, trembling, as the two warriors made a break for one another. Seth’s arm swung in a large arc, the hammer poised to cave in the Irishman’s skull. Finn’s hand shot out and wrapped around Seth’s wrist, halting the weapon’s momentum. Before Seth could make his next move, Finn’s other hand snared itself around Rollin’s throat. Startled and gasping for air, Rollins let his guard down briefly, and Finn took full advantage. He viciously shoved Seth backwards, the Shield member stumbling over his own feet. Bayley panicked as she saw the pair heading straight for her. She barely made it out of the way, letting out a cry of horror as they collided with the wall surrounding the gym. Seth’s back hit the façade with such force that a layer of corrugated metal buckled beneath his weight.

     ‘Finn!’ Bayley yelled out, trying to warn him how close she was to the savage action, but he never heard. In fact, he seemed completely unaware of anything around him. The only thing he could see was Rollins. She flinched on seeing the deadness behind his ice-cold eyes and wondered what on earth had happened to him. It was almost as if a switch had been flipped inside of him.

     Seth had noticed the change too. Throughout their bout, he had seen the cogs working furiously in Finn’s mind, how he assessed his opponent and planned his next move. But now, there was nothing in those battered features. His face had settled into an emotionless mask. His actions seemed to come from instinct alone.

     Neither knew about the entity that lurked inside the Irishman; the one Finn called his demon.

     Bálor felt the fire pulse through his veins. He could no longer sense any pain or fatigue. Only hunger. His dark gaze locked onto his preys’ and the fire inside him leapt. He could see it at last, a flash in the Shield member’s eyes.

     Fear!

     The hand wrapped around Seth’s wrist tightened. He punched forward, driving Seth’s hand back into the wall. The blow bounced off the steel wall with a clatter. Bálor drove Seth’s hand back again and again, finally fulfilling his task. Seth’s grip around the hammer faltered and it fell to the floor.

     Now weaponless, Seth lashed out. Breaking free from the Irishman’s grip, he placed his hand over Finn’s face, trying to push his assailant back. In retaliation, Bálor used both hands to tighten his strangle-hold on Seth’s neck. He heard the Shield member gasp out for air.

     ‘Finn! Wait!’ Bayley cried out to deaf ears.

     The hand smothering Finn’s face turned erratic, trying to slash and gouge Finn’s eyes. Bálor swung his head from side-to-side, trying to keep it away from Seth’s flailing arm but when one splintered fingernail managed to snag his eyelid, he admitted defeat and backed up. Seth was on him in an instant. One right hook narrowly missed, followed sharply by another. Blow after blow missed Bálor by a whisker as he masterfully dodged each attack. He ducked underneath another mad swing and, using the strength in his legs, he landed a ferocious uppercut right on Seth’s chin. The Shield member’s head snapped back. He was lucky it didn’t pop off of his spine.

     Bálor wasted no time, landing a cruel right hook that busted Seth’s nose. A spray of red rained down on the pair as Bálor smashed his fist into Rollins’ face again. Two rapid jabs to the ribs and a roundhouse kick to the stomach followed. In desperation, Rollins sucker-punched his opponent in the ear. The blow spun the Irishman around but it was only a ruse, meant to tease his opponent. As Seth went to attack his foe’s rear, Bálor fell back, releasing an overheard kick that landed squarely on his rival’s temple. The blow rocked through Rollins’ entire body and he began to wobble.

     The end was in sight.

     Bálor dashed towards his opponent, leapt up and planted both feet into Seth’s sternum. If he hadn’t broken Rollins’ collar bone before, he had certainly broken it now. Seth’s howl of pain as he plummeted to the ground made all the blood in Bayley’s body turn ice cold. The feeling only worsened when she looked up at the man standing tall over Seth’s prone body. She shivered on seeing the callous unfeeling in his expression, even as he watched his foe writhe in agony.

     ‘It’s over,’ a voice snarled and Bayley jumped on seeing the voice emerge from Finn’s lips. It had that Irish lilt of his, but that was not the soft, warm tone she’d heard telling her funny stories all day. It was deep, harsh. Otherworldly, even.

     She watched as the man she once knew as Finn took several long strides back. She finally let go of the breath that she had subconsciously been holding onto. It was finally over. Finn was victorious and Seth had been defeated and somehow, through it all, they had all survived.

     ‘Finn, over here,’ she called, trying to rub some life back into her legs. Maybe, if he saw her, he would snap out of his weird trance. Her heart was racing and she wanted nothing more than to see the light back in his captivating eyes and to feel his strong, warm arms around her once more. ‘Finn?’ she looked up when she noticed he hadn’t come to her side.

     He was standing in the exact same position, poised just a few feet from where Seth was lying gasping on the floor. She saw his body coil, ready to unleash. A sinking feeling struck the pit of her stomach.

     ‘Finn! No, wait!’

     Her pleas came too late as the Irishman shot towards his beaten foe. Desperately she screamed his name as he took a running leap high into the air. He hovered over Seth’s broken form, pulling his legs up to his chest. His gaze locked onto his prey as he took aim, setting his feet to target Rollins’ defenseless face. The look that met his was one he knew so very well. It was the same expression that each and every one of his victims had worn the second before he had ripped their lives away. The way their pupils turned to pinpricks, drowning in the white of their bulging eyes. The mouth that stretched, baring blunted teeth, voiceless screams unable to tear themselves from their throats. The horror and dread bore naked in that fraction of a second where their lives flash before them and the empty void starts to take hold.

     ‘FINN! NO!’

     Finn’s feet landed with a pounding thud. The very ground around him seemed to ripple out with the force.

     Finn’s chest heaved as he tried to breathe, each breath feeling like a knife repeatedly stabbing his side.

     He looked up and over to the figure that had called his name in that last second. Colt stood a few feet away, his arms out and hands up. His face a mask of white terror.

     He heard a gasp beneath him. Looking down, he saw Seth sandwiched between Finn’s open feet. The Shield member was bug-eyed with panic, gasping wildly. Trying to make sense of what had happened and why he was still alive.

     Finn felt Bálor return his body to him, the demon inside slinking its way back into the dark recesses of his mind. The pain and exhaustion hit his body like a lightening bolt. His legs gave out and he crumpled onto his knees.

     The last thing he saw was the ground rushing towards him before everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew - sorry for toying with your emotions there, guys!  
> To make up for it, I have uploaded the first chapters of my brand new Ballins fic so if, like me, you prefer to see Finn and Seth make love and not war, go check out [Flint and Steel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22447810/chapters/53636005)


	36. Not Alone

     ‘Woah, woah, I gotcha, buddy,’ Colt exclaimed as he rushed forward, catching Finn before he struck the ground. The Irishman slouched limply in Colt’s grasp. ‘He’s out cold,’ he called over to Luci, who was busy tending to Bayley. ‘Fuck, man, look at the state of you.’ Already, Colt’s arms were wet with Finn’s blood.

     His attention was soon caught by another voice, a mere foot away. He looked down to see Seth still awake, trapped in a vicious panic attack on the ground. Carefully, Colt placed the unconscious Irishman down, securing him safely in the recovery position before inspecting the writhing Shield member.

     Seth locked eyes with Colt as the Chicago native crouched down beside him. ‘Dude! Dude! Am I dead? I should be dead!’ he blurted out, grabbing a fistful of Colt’s bloodied shirt. Colt sat motionless, studying the man. Finally, he was face-to-face with one of the men who had relentlessly pursued him, chased him like a ragged animal for all of these months. A man who had caused all of his sleepless nights, his long days of running hard and those never ending moments of hiding. The man who had attacked when they were at their most vulnerable; when they had finally found a warm place to sleep, when Punk was sick. This was the man who had created all of this fear within him.

     Now that he could finally see this man…

     ‘No, you’re not dead,’ Colt said softly. Seth’s panic began to subside.

     … he was nothing!

     Colt socked Seth in the jaw, knocking his lights out.

 

     For a handful of sweet, short moments, everything was dark and peaceful. The world had switched itself off and submitted to the void, leaving him cocooned in warm silence. He had left his body behind, only his consciousness floated in the darkness but he had little to think about. He focused on the stillness and meditated silently.

     Then the noises hit. Thrumming in and out around him. Some so soft he could barely make out what they were, others so loud, they nearly split him apart. He tried to block out the sounds, wishing desperately he had his body again so that he could cover his ears. The noises built and built until they surrounded him with their blaring.

     He was back in his body. It felt like a prison, heavy and cumbersome.

     His eyelids slowly fluttered open to let in the light.

     ‘Oh thank god, he’s waking up.’ She was a blur at first but softly came into focus. Sasha Banks.

     Finn didn’t say anything. He merely looked around him, trying to figure out where he was. He was back inside. He knew the room. Sasha’s infirmary. He’d come to know this room almost as much as the one he shared with Punk and Colt.

     There was another woman there with them. Tall and imposing. He hadn’t seen her much since their first day here but he knew she was called Luci and that both Punk and Colt trusted her with their lives.

     That was as far as his muddled mind got, other than the fact he was lying on a gurney. He had no memory of how he’d gotten to the infirmary or why he’d fallen asleep there. He tried to clear some of the fog from his brain but to no avail.

     ‘How-?’ he began to say but couldn’t remember the next part of the sentence.

     ‘Just relax, Finn,’ Sasha said to him. She was holding a pair of curved scissors in her hand along with a red-soaked ball of cotton. ‘You’re safe now.’

     He knew that. He knew he was safe. He had survived a coup staged by his own brothers. He had escaped the clutches of cannibals. Those dangers were far behind him. Even when he became ensnared in a vicious bear trap, Punk had helped free his leg.

     His leg!

     That was the throbbing he could feel. It had felt disconnected somehow, distant, but now that he had joined the dots, he could distinctly feel the pain radiating from his injured limb. He tried to heave himself up to inspect it.

     The glass shattered and the pain burst through his entire body.

     He tried to scream but all that came out was a strangled gasp.

     ‘Finn, lie back down, don’t move.’ Sasha’s voice was gentle but stern and Finn was happy to comply. He lay back down but the seal had been broken and the pain refused to leave him. It was everywhere, infesting every part of his body. His leg throbbed as if it had its own heartbeat, the skin on his right arm and chest seethed with fire while every muscle he possessed wept with agony. The worst pain came from his side. A sharp, stabbing sensation that halted every rasping breath he took. He lifted his arm, every inch of skin boiling with anguish, as he reached over and touched his side. He could feel gauze taped to his ribs, some patches of it were wet. A shiver went through his body in preparation.

     He gently pushed down on the gauze.

   His body jolted and another stuttered gasp escaped his lips. The pain had pulsed through him like an electric shock. The once solid bone had crumpled beneath his touch. His clouded mind tried to make sense of it all. He knew he had cracked his ribs, all the way back when Punk and Colt had rescued him from his kidnappers, but they had eventually healed. How were they suddenly broken?

     He panicked when he drew a complete blank. He was awake now, completely aware of his surroundings and of every raw sensation in his body. Yet his head was still stuffed with cotton and his memory had been utterly wiped clean. His heart began to pound and his breathing became erratic, only worsening the anguish in his ribs.

     ‘Finn, listen to me. You have to calm down.’ Sasha was right next to him, leaning over him now.

     ‘I can’t… I can’t re-… I don’t know what-,’ Finn tried to gasp out.

     ‘Talk to me, Finn, what’s wrong?’ Sasha asked, her voice calm and unwavering. He moved his focus to her. She was an anchor right now, strong and sturdy in a world that was twisting wildly around him.

     ‘Where…. Colt… Punk?’ Finn managed to stutter.

     ‘Go get Colt,’ Sasha instructed Luci and she left immediately.

   There was more room around him now yet his breathing still did not settle. How could he not remember anything? What had happened to him? Why was he in this much pain?

     He felt warm hands cup his face. He flinched from the contact and tried to get away. ‘Smell, feel, hear, smell, feel, hear, smell, feel, hear.’ He could hear Sasha repeat these words directly above him, her voice soft and steady. He focused on her words and felt himself relax into her touch. ‘Good,’ she said, ‘now tell me what you can smell.’

     ‘I… I don’t know.’

     ‘Then take a deep breath.’

     Finn did as he was told. ‘I… can smell…’ he took in another breath. ‘I can smell soil on your hands.’

     ‘Good, tell me what you can feel.’

     ‘I feel your hands on my face?’

     ‘And what can you hear?’

     ‘Your voice.’

     ‘What else can you hear?’

     ‘I can hear the leather squeaking whenever I move. I can hear my heart beating. I can hear us both breathing.’ He opened his eyes suddenly. ‘We’re breathing in sync,’ he said with stunned realisation. Sasha stood back up with a smile across her face. ‘Wow,’ Finn said with a chuckle, ‘that’s a pretty cool trick.’

     ‘Feeling better?’ Sasha asked, removing her hands from his face.

     ‘Yeah,’ Finn said and he meant it. Now that his breathing had calmed down, the panic had cleared.

    ‘Good, let’s try and keep it that way.’

     Sasha’s attention was diverted to the door as Colt came barging in. ‘Is everything alright?’ he asked, clearly worried senseless about his friend.

     ‘We’re good,’ Sasha told him.

     ‘Colt, is that you?’ Finn asked, unable to see from his position.

     ‘Yeah, yeah, it’s me, buddy,’ Colt said, dashing to Finn’s side. ‘How you feeling?’

     ‘Like I’ve been hit by a bus,’ Finn replied. He paused for a second. ‘Was I hit by a bus?’

     Colt chuckled and smiled down at the Irishman. ‘You’re a hero, man. You saved her life.’

     Finn’s brow furrowed. What was he talking about?

     Sasha noticed the look on his face and quickly interceded. ‘Colt, can you help me sit him up?’ she asked.

     ‘Uh, yeah sure.’

   ‘This will hurt,’ Sasha warned Finn, ‘but we’ll make you as comfortable as possible.’

     Together, Sasha and Colt helped Finn pull his shattered torso up. Finn’s couldn’t even try to disguise the anguish he felt as the pain was written all over his face. ‘You’re doing great,’ Colt cooed. Once Finn was up in a sitting position, Colt wrapped his arms around him, holding him up, while Sasha adjusted the head of the gurney to a forty-five degree angle. Once it was fixed in place, they helped Finn to lie back down. He sank into the pillows with a sigh.

     ‘You ok?’ Colt asked.

     ‘Yeah,’ Finn groaned. ‘Pretty tired though.’

     ‘Soon you’ll be able to rest,’ Sasha informed him. ‘I just need to give you a few tests now that you’re awake.’

     ‘Why?’ Finn asked. He turned to Colt. ‘What’s going on?’

     Colt seemed taken aback. He looked over to Sasha. ‘You said there might be some memory loss.’

     ‘Memory loss? What-‘ Finn felt himself growing frustrated. ‘Seriously, what is going on?’

     ‘You took a bad blow to the head,’ Sasha told him in that same calm voice. ‘It took twelve stitches to close the wound.’ Finn looked back at her blankly. He lifted his hand and felt around his scalp. He found the injury and softly ran his fingers across the hard threads protruding from the side of his forehead. So that explained why she had the scissors in her hand when he had woken up. ‘I was just in the middle of cleaning the wound and wrapping it when you woke up,’ Sasha continued to explain, ‘but it’s left you with a bad…’

     Her voice trailed off as Finn’s attention turned elsewhere. Now that he was sitting up, he could finally see the full extent of the damage done to his body. He was lying in only his underwear on the gurney, his battered form completely exposed. It reminded him of the injuries he sustained from his assassination attempt only the wounds weren’t as concentrated. The last time, they had primarily been around his head and torso but now almost every inch of his body was covered in bruises and bloody lacerations. His injured leg was twice its usual size and a deep shade of purple from ankle to knee. The asphalt burns on his arm and chest were a vicious red and almost seemed to glow like embers. He examined the gauze on his broken ribs and was shocked to see how bloody it was, despite Sasha’s stitches. Old blood smeared down his side all the way to his hip.

     With both hands he felt his face. There was a large pocket of swelling directly below his right eye and now that he thought about it, it did feel like that eye was not fully open. His nose and lips were sticky with dried blood and another bulge of swelling revealed itself in the middle of his bottom lip. He was so relieved that there were no mirrors in the room at that moment.

     After taking in his injuries, Finn’s attention returned to the room around him. Sasha was still talking but he no longer cared about his condition. He needed answers.

     ‘Who did this?’ Finn interrupted, his voice suddenly turning dark. Colt and Sasha exchanged a look. Finn was no longer in the mood for games. ‘Who _did_ this to me?’

     Sasha looked to Colt. It was better if it came from him.

     ‘I don’t know how much you remember,’ Colt started. ‘But you and Bayley were-‘

     ‘Bayley!’ Finn said with a start. ‘We were outside, working on the outer walls.’

     ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Colt nodded. ‘What else do you remember?’

     It was all so foggy, like shadows hiding behind a frosted window. ‘We chatted, we laughed. I was having a great time.’ He crinkled his forehead. He could almost see it, but every time he got close, it danced away again. ‘She dropped the hammer on her foot… hammer…’

     He looked down at his ribs again, absentmindedly feeling the gauze with his fingers.

     ‘The hammer is important,’ he tried to explain. ‘Something happened… with the hammer.’ The fog closed in around him again. He let out a cry of frustration. ‘I can’t remember! Why can’t I remember?’

     ‘Finn, you’re right,’ Colt said, trying to keep his voice low and calm. ‘Something did happen. You got into a fight.’

     ‘A fight?’ Finn asked. He didn’t recall that at all but it made sense seeing the state of him. ‘Did I win?’

     ‘Yeah, you won,’ Colt said.

     ‘A fight…’ Finn whispered to himself, hoping that by repeating the word it may act as bait to hook the memory from his mind. ‘Was it someone from Nocks?’

     ‘No, it was an outsider. A guy named Seth Rollins.’

     ‘From the Shield!’ Finn exclaimed.

     ‘You remember him?’ Colt asked.

     ‘I caught him spying on us at the border. I thought I’d scared him away.’

     ‘You remember fighting him tonight?’

     Finn locked eyes with Colt. He shook his head, looking utterly lost and confused.

     ‘Well you did,’ Colt continued. ‘He attacked Bayley -‘

     Finn rounded on Colt with a panicked expression. ‘Is she ok?’ he demanded.

     ‘She’s fine,’ Colt reassured him quickly, ‘thanks to you. You saved her life, Finn. You fought him off.’

     ‘And I won?’ Finn said again.

     ‘Yes, you won.’

     Those words struck Finn to his very core. Colt watched with confusion as the Irishman stared off into the distance, a strange look creeping across his brow. A mixture of horror and guilt. He sank deep into his pillows and retreated back into himself.

     ‘Finn, you alright?’ Colt asked, growing concerned.

     ‘I swore…’ Finn murmured to himself. ‘I swore on our marks that I’d never… and now Bayley will…’

     ‘What’s wrong with him?’ Colt asked Sasha, but she only stared blankly back at him.

     ‘He’ll be a little out of it for a while,’ she explained.

     ‘For how long?’

     ‘Could be a few days,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Even up to a week, or longer. Head trauma can be unpredictable. We’ll just have to wait and see.’

     ‘Is there anything we can do for him?’

     ‘Keep him comfortable and calm. Tend to his other wounds. Other than that, not really.’

     ‘I could bring him that Lego set he likes,’ Colt offered. ‘Or maybe a visit from Bayley?’

     Finn froze.

     ‘That would be good. Then he could see for himself that she’s ok.’

   ‘I’ll go see if I can find her,’ Colt said, jumping up from his seat and hastily leaving the room. Sasha stood up and went to wash her hands in a bucket of water.

     ‘Is he getting Bayley?’ Finn piped up. She turned around to face him, drying her hands with a clean rag.

     ‘Yeah, she wanted to see you when you woke up.’

     Finn’s mind began to rattle. He had to think of something, quick.

     ‘Sasha, can you do me a favour?’

     ‘Sure thing.’

     ‘I have something for Bayley,’ he said, lying on the spot. ‘Something I wanted to give her, but it’s in my pack in the room. Could you bring it through for me?’

     Sasha smiled widely. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Now you just stay here and rest up but remember, no falling asleep just yet.’

     ‘I’ll be good as gold,’ Finn smiled back at her. He watched Sasha intently as she left the room and as soon as the door closed shut, he acted. Bolting upright, he pushed down all of the intense pain in his body as he rolled off the gurney. He frantically limped around the room, searching for his things and eventually found his jeans and jacket neatly folded on a table. He tried desperately to pull his jeans on but his badly swollen leg acted up and refused to squeeze into them. With a growl, he gave up and threw the jeans down. He didn’t have time to mess around so instead he shoved on his jacket and left the room in a state of undress.

     He hobbled his way down the corridor. It was dark. Must be night-time. Perfect, there would be no one around. He began to make his way towards his room when he suddenly halted. _Stupid!_ He had sent Sasha to his room to fetch his pack. He mentally kicked himself. _Never mind!_ He could get another pack and more supplies later. All he needed to do now was get away from this place.

     A door opened down the hallway and Finn pressed himself close to the wall. He saw Sasha come out of his room with his bag in hand. He had to move now!

     As silently as he could muster, he crept back the way he had come but instead of turning in the direction of the infirmary, he made for the main door. He heard footsteps approaching, getting louder and louder. He crouched down, blending in with the shadows. His body cried out and he suppressed a grunt of pain. He watched as Sasha marched by without glancing his way once.

     _Go! Now! Before she see’s that you’re gone!_

He shambled the rest of the way to the door and escaped out into the night.

 

     Colt trudged down the hallways, looking for any sign of Bayley. So far she wasn’t in the cafeteria or her room. He was determined that she couldn’t have gone far – she had been cleared by Sasha not long before Finn woke up.

     He heard a voice call out behind him and turned to see Tye running towards him.

     ‘Uh Colt,’ Tye said. ‘He’s waking up.’

     ‘Yeah, yeah, I know Finn’s woken up. Have you seen Bayley?’ Colt responded, carrying on down the corridor.

     ‘No, I don’t mean Finn, I mean… the other guy.’

     Colt halted in his tracks. ‘Rollins?’ he queried, dreading the answer.

     ‘Yeah, that guy you brought in and told me to guard just now. You know, when you went running off to see Finn?’

     Colt stood dumbfounded. Why was he suddenly the guy who had to do everything around here? Sasha was tending to Finn in the infirmary, Bayley were nowhere to be found while Cena and Punk were still not back yet. Why was this all falling on his shoulders?

     ‘Colt? What do we do?’

     Colt looked at Tye and realised that now was not the time for self-pity. He had to take charge.

     ‘I’ll see to Seth,’ he told Tye. ‘Have the guys on the water run returned yet?’

     ‘They have, they’re just filling up the tanks.’

     ‘Go find Punk and Cena,’ Colt instructed the younger man. ‘I don’t give a shit if they’re finished or not, I need them _now_. Got it?’

     Tye made to leave when Colt grabbed his arm. ‘And if you see Bayley, tell her that Finn’s awake.’ Tye nodded his head and was about to head off when Colt gripped him again. ‘I need you to do this Tye,’ he said in a stern voice. ‘No flaking out, no distractions. I _need_ Punk and Cena _here_ ASAP. Got it?’

     ‘Yeah, I got it,’ Tye said with a tinge of fear in his voice.

     ‘Good then go,’ Colt said and finally released the younger man. As soon as Tye was out of sight, Colt heaved a weighty sigh and rubbed both hands over his face. This was all too much!

     ‘Get a grip, Colton,’ he muttered to himself. He slapped both cheeks, shook the remaining doubt from his head and marched his way down the corridor towards Cena’s gym room. His fingers gripped the door handle and he took one final breath before entering.

     The room was dark and a metallic smell hung in the air. A single oil lamp burned in the corner, casting long, towering shadows across the walls. On the floor, a limp, bloody figure was slowly coming to life. Colt never lifted his eyes from Rollins as he walked across the room, grabbed a chair and the oil lamp before settling down a few feet away from the Shield member.

     ‘Come to gloat, huh?’ Seth croaked from the floor as he tried to pull himself up to a sitting position. Colt eyed the metal handcuffs snared around Rollins’ wrists, tethering him to one of Cena’s weight machines. It was a temporary measure and a desperate one at that. This was a refuge in an old gym – they didn’t exactly have a place to keep prisoners.

   ‘I’d be lying if I said a small part of me wasn’t enjoying seeing _you_ in pain for once,’ Colt said, coldly.

     ‘You really think you can hold me here?’ Seth growled.

     ‘No,’ Colt replied back honestly. ‘But I couldn’t allow you to report back to your brothers.’

     Seth lowered his head and gave a snide chuckle. ‘Either your Irish friend hasn’t woken up yet or he isn’t talking.’

     ‘He’s awake,’ Colt informed him, ‘but his memory is a bit hazy. You gave him a real beating.’

    ‘Hey man, it wasn’t exactly a one-sided fight,’ Seth defended. ‘I mean, look at me, dude, I’m a goddamn mess. That ‘friend’ of yours is one, _fucked-up_ psychopath!’

     ‘You want me to bring him in here and finish the job?’ Colt said, his tone as serious as the grave. Seth shrunk back. Colt had never seen fear in the man’s eyes before. ‘Then I suggest you start talking nice to me.’

     ‘Whatever you want, man.’ Seth sighed.

     ‘Where’s Reigns and Ambrose?’ Colt demanded.

     Seth let out a wry laugh again. ‘Why don’t you tell me? Or better yet, ask that murdering son-of-a-bitch you hang around with?’

     ‘I’m asking _you_.’

     ‘ _I don’t know!’_ Seth cried out. ‘They both went missing almost three weeks ago. Gone, without a trace! I’ve been searching all over this godforsaken city for them. Then, believe it or not, I come to this dump and who do I find? A renowned killer who just happens to be best buds with the two guys who want us dead.’

     ‘What are you saying?’

     ‘I’m saying that it’s more than a coincidence that fucking _Prince Devitt_ is in town and all of a sudden my two brothers are missing.’

     ‘You think Finn killed Reigns and Ambrose?’

     ‘If the shoe fits.’

     ‘That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.’

     ‘Did you think that we actually gave up on you guys when you were with the Bullet Club?’ Seth said. ‘We kept our distance, sure, we aint stupid, but we were still watchin’ you. I saw what he did to that guy the day you two played superheroes. I saw him shoot that guy in the head without flinching once and I saw him kill his own man with no remorse. He may act the good guy now but it’s exactly that – an act. Once a killer, always a killer.’

     ‘And you would know about that wouldn’t you?’ Colt shot back.

     ‘More than most,’ Seth retorted with a grin.

     ‘Then answer me this,’ Colt said, adjusting himself in his seat. ‘If Finn went out and methodically killed your friends like you’re claiming he did… then why did he choose to spare your life?’ Seth was struck dumb. ‘Cause he _was_ going to kill you, don’t doubt that for a second. I’ve seen him take that running leap plenty of times in the short space that I’ve known him and never once have I seen him miss. He stopped himself from killing you. If he’s trying to take out the Shield then why would he do that?’

     Seth had nothing to say.

     ‘That’s what I thought,’ Colt said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. ‘Finn didn’t kill your brothers. You said they disappeared three weeks ago. We’ve only been here a few days.’

     ‘Then where the hell are they?’ Seth pleaded. It was so strange seeing a man that Colt had feared for so long acting so vulnerable.

     ‘I don’t know,’ Colt told him. ‘I’m sorry, I wish I could help you more.’ Seth seemed taking aback by Colt’s sincere sentiment. ‘Sasha will be in here shortly to dress your wounds. I’ll bring you some water and something to eat. Can I get you anything else?’

    ‘What if I need to take a piss?’ Seth spat. It was a knee jerk reaction to Colt’s kindness – he didn’t trust it.

     ‘I’ve left you a bucket,’ Colt said, his face turning to stone again. At that moment, Tye came bungling into the make-shift prison.

     ‘Colt, John’s here and he wants to speak to you… in private.’

     ‘Fine,’ Colt said, getting to his feet. ‘Keep an eye on him while I’m gone. I’ll be right outside if you need me.’

     ‘Sure,’ Tye replied and sat in Colt’s now vacated chair.

     ‘Say hi to Princey for me,’ Seth yelled.

     Once Colt was safely out of the room, he slammed the door shut and rubbed his exhausted eyes with his fingers. After hearing what Rollins had to say, he was even more conflicted than before about what they should do with the man. He was lost, missing those closest to him and hurting. If their paths had crossed a mere few weeks ago, Colt would have felt no remorse for the man, but seeing him now in such a fragile state, he couldn’t help but sympathise with him. He shook his head with a frustrated growl.

     ‘Woah, you ok, there?’ Colt looked up on hearing John Cena’s voice and found the man himself standing before him.

     ‘No, not really,’ Colt sighed and began chewing the inside of his cheek.

     ‘Sooo… Tye tells me you’ve got a man chained up in my gym room?’ Cena said with hesitation.

     ‘Yeah,’ Colt replied with a tired groan.

     ‘Ok.’

     Silence lingered between the pair.

     ‘Sooo… you wanna tell me _why_ there’s a man chained up in my gym room?’ Cena demanded.

     ‘It was the only place we could think of,’ Colt admitted with a shrug. ‘It was either here or the canteen and to be honest, there were too many people in the-‘

     ‘Who is this guy and why are you keeping him prisoner in my gym room?’ Cena asked, growing frustrated himself.

     ‘His name is Seth Rollins,’ Colt explained, looking up and down the corridor. ‘It’s a long story but the gist of it is that he is dangerous. He tried to kill Bayley and attacked Finn.’

     ‘Holy-! Are they ok?’ Cena spluttered.

     ‘They’re fine,’ Colt told him. ‘Finn’s in a bad way but he’ll live.’ He looked along the corridor again. ‘If it’s alright with you, I’d rather wait until Punk gets here to explain more. Save me from telling the same stuff twice.’

     ‘Uh… yeah,’ Cena groaned out and Colt saw him shift awkwardly from foot to foot.

     ‘What is it?’ Colt asked, a feeling of dread already creeping up his spine.

     ‘That’s kind of what I asked to speak to you about.’ Cena rubbed the back of his neck.

     ‘What?’ Colt asked, his voice turning into a snarl.

     ‘Look, I have no idea what happened. When we left the reservoir, we spoke for a bit and, yeah, he was struggling a little with the barrels but he said he didn’t need any help so…’

     ‘John…?’ Colt growled.

     ‘It wasn’t until we got back that we even noticed. We waited around for a bit but by then…’

     ‘John… where’s Punk?’ Colt asked, his voice dark and threatening.

     ‘I even sent a couple of guys to retrace our steps but they couldn’t find any sign of-‘

     ‘JOHN!’ Colt barked out. ‘Where. The Hell. Is. Punk?’

     Cena licked his lips nervously. ‘I don’t know,’ he finally admitted.

     ‘You don’t know?’ Colt parroted the gym leader.

     ‘Apparently he told one of the boys that he was stopping for a bathroom break. He told them to keep moving and he would catch up… only… he didn’t.’

     ‘You’re telling me that he’s still out there!’ Colt spat. ‘I thought you were meant to be in charge of this whole ‘expedition’. You’re telling me that you didn’t keep an eye on him?’

     ‘I had another ten people to keep an eye on,’ Cena defended.

     ‘It was his first time!’ Colt shot back. ‘He didn’t know the route. He’s only ever been to Tampa a handful of times and most times he probably stayed with-‘. Realisation hit Colt like a wrecking ball smashing a brick wall. ‘Son of a-‘

     ‘COLT! COLT!’ Sasha’s voice snapped the Chicago native from his thoughts. He looked up to see her rushing down the corridor with a look of panic on her face.

     ‘What now?’ Colt asked, officially done with that day.

     ‘It’s Finn!’ Sasha gasped out.

     ‘Is he ok?’

   ‘He’s gone,’ Sasha cried.

     ‘WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?’ Colt blurted out. ‘HAS EVERYBODY GONE FUCKING MAD?’

     ‘He asked me to fetch something for him but by the time I got back to the infirmary, he wasn’t there. I’ve searched everywhere Colt and I can’t find him. The main door was open – I think he took off.’

     ‘Took off? But where? How? He can’t even _walk_!’

     ‘I don’t know,’ Sasha confessed. ‘He doesn’t have his pack or anything. Colt, in his condition he-‘

     ‘You don’t need to tell me that!’ Colt scolded.

     ‘He can’t have gotten far,’ Cena interjected. ‘I’ll head out and go look for him.’

     ‘I’m coming with you,’ Colt told him. ‘I may also have an idea where Punk is. Just promise me something.’

     ‘Anything,’ Cena said.

     ‘When we find them, hold me the fuck back,’ Colt scowled, ‘or I swear, I’m gonna murder the pair of them!’

 

     Punk was certain that he could hear his shoulders literally creaking under the pressure of the yoke but he continued placing one foot in front of the other. His detour had taken longer than he anticipated and by the time he had returned, there was no trace of the rest of the water run. Since he didn’t know the route, he tried to retrace their steps as best he could but as he passed each street, they all began to resemble each other and he soon found himself completely lost.

     He finally gave into his aching back and placed the water barrels down. Wiping the sweat from his eyes with the bottom of his shirt, he paused to to catch his breath. Scanning his surroundings he could no longer tell if he had been in this particular street before or not.

     ‘Sssshit,’ he swore to himself. He was certain that the refuge was close by but he had no idea which way to go. He took in all of his options. He didn’t want to retrace his steps again so he opted to keep going the way he had been before. With a heavy groan, he squatted and placed his shoulders beneath the yoke. Just as he was about to lift them up, a figure sprung from around the corner at the far end of the street. Punk swore again as he abandoned the water barrels and scrambled to hide behind a rusty shell of a car. He crouched down, catching his breath, cursing his stupidity for leaving the group over and over again.

     Several seconds lurched past and nothing happened.

     Finally realising that the stranger hadn’t spotted him, Punk took a chance and peeked around the car for a look. His initial fear turned to confusion. The figure was clearly a man, but it was moving strangely. Stumbling around like a drunk, it hugged the walls closely as if it was scared they would dissolve the second it let go. It’s head frantically swiveled about on its neck but it was clear it wasn’t taking in his surroundings, instead just blindly fumbling around and hoping for the best. To add to the strangeness of the whole situation, the creature was almost naked.

     As the bizarre being edged closer, Punk stood up, his brows knitted together.

     ‘Finn?’ he called out.

     The figure froze in place, its head spinning in every direction before it finally found Punk standing directly opposite him.

     ‘Punk?’ Finn replied, his face a mask of utter bewilderment. ‘What’re you doing here?’

     ‘What the fuck happened to you?’ Punk asked, striding up to the younger man. ‘You’re a mess!’

     ‘Punk!’ Finn cried out, grabbing hold of Punk’s hoodie. ‘I fucked up! I fucked up bad.’ He looked up at Punk with blue eyes wide with dread.

     ‘Why, what did you do?’ Punk asked, trying to make sense of the situation.

     ‘Rollins…’ Finn managed to force out.

     ‘Rollins?’ Punk spat, gripping Finn around the shoulders. ‘What about Rollins? Did he do this?’ Before he could reply, Finn gasped out in pain and clutched his side. Punk quickly removed his hands and gently lifted up the side of Finn’s jacket. His eyes narrowed on seeing the large bandage covering Finn’s ribs, oozing with fresh blood. ‘Jesus…’ he sighed.

     ‘I messed up,’ Finn wheezed quietly. ‘I let him take over…’

     ‘Here, let’s sit down, alright?’ Punk said, carefully steering Finn towards the sidewalk. He helped the younger man ease down until he was sitting against the wall of a building, pain etched clearly over Finn’s face every time he moved. Looking at the state of him, Punk had no idea how he had managed to wander so far from the gym. He scanned over the wounds on Finn’s body, his eye drawn to his fractured leg, which was now a deep shade of violet and quivering uncontrollably.

     ‘Where’s your brace, Finn?’ Punk asked.

     ‘Punk, listen to me,’ Finn cried out, grasping Punk by the lapel again. ‘The demon came out!’

     ‘What are you talking about?’ Punk asked, looking Finn in the eye once more.

     ‘When I fought Rollins, I let him take over,’ Finn said. When he saw the look of confusion in Punk’s face, he tried desperately to explain. ‘Remember, back when we first met? I told you about my fight with Orton? That fire that burned inside me? The demon?’ Punk stared at the Irishman intensely. ‘I released it, Punk. I let it take over me.’

     Punk didn’t reply at first, instead just focusing on the younger man, his mind whirring behind his hazel eyes.

     ‘Finn,’ Punk said, keeping his voice calm, ‘how many fingers am I holding up?’

     Finn furrowed his brows and stared at the single finger Punk steadily held in front of his face. ‘Well, if you stop moving them around so much…’ Finn responded.

     ‘Ok, forget that, just follow my hand while I move it, alright?’ Finn nodded. Punk slowly moved his finger from side to side and up and down, watching as Finn’s gaze tried desperately to keep up. Several times he had to close his eyes and shake his head to refocus. Eventually Punk had seen enough. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.

     ‘Finn, you have a concussion,’ Punk told him.

     The Irishman shook his head violently. ‘No, you’re not listening to me! It was the demon! I completely blacked out and I can’t remember anything that happened after-‘

     ‘Yeah… that _still_ sounds like a concussion to me,’ Punk retorted.

     Finn sat for a while, lost in thought. ‘A concussion,’ he finally said.

     ‘What happened?’ Punk asked, sternly.

     ‘I can’t…’ Finn mumbled. ‘I can’t remember.’

     ‘You said something about Seth Rollins.’

     ‘Colt told me that he attacked Bayley.’

     ‘When you were working on the outer walls?’ Finn nodded. ‘What was he doing at Nocks?’

     Finn shook his head. ‘I don’t know, I can’t even remember fighting him.’ He grimaced again and clutched his side. Just as the pain shot from his ribs through his body, an image flashed across his mind. ‘The hammer,’ he stated. ‘ _Rollins_ had the hammer.’ He could see it clearly now, gripped tightly in his opponent’s hand.

     ‘He hit you with a hammer?’ Punk asked.

     ‘That’s what broke my ribs,’ Finn said, feeling comfort as a piece of the puzzle fell into place. ‘And this,’ he rubbed his fingers over the exposed stitches on his forehead. ‘Pfft, no wonder I’m concussed.’

     ‘Focus, Finn, we’re getting somewhere. He had a hammer?’

     ‘He hit me in the head, rocked me completely. I fell to the floor. Bayley was there. I held her hand. She tried to save me…’

     ‘Save you?’

     ‘From Rollins. She threw herself over me, but he pulled her away.’ It was taking every ounce of energy for him to remember the ordeal. It hurt his head and made his vision blurry but the more he focused on the hammer, the more the memories flowed from him. ‘He pinned me down. He was going to dash my head in with the hammer.’

     ‘Fuck, man…’

     ‘Then he told Bayley to watch carefully because she was next. That’s when I blacked out.’

     ‘You can’t remember anything else? Try to think, focus on the hammer.’

     ‘It’s no use, Punk. I can’t remember anything else after that.’ Finn rubbed his tired eyes, ignoring the sting from his swollen, black eye.

     ‘You’ve done great,’ Punk reassured him. ‘Only one other question - what are you doing out here?’    

     ‘Haven’t you been listening?’ Finn yelled with frustration. ‘I let the demon out.’ Punk stared at him blankly. ‘Punk, I _killed_ him. I killed Rollins!’ Finally, the emotion hit him and he buried his face in his hands so that Punk couldn’t see him break down.

     ‘Finn, you didn’t have a choice,’ Punk told him. ‘You just said it yourself, he had a weapon and he tried to cave your head in. It was either you or him, and if you were killed, Bayley would be next.’

     ‘But I made a vow,’ Finn spat. ‘I made a promise. You were my witness. I swore never to kill again.’

     ‘Yeah,’ Punk said, ‘and we agreed that that was a stupid promise to keep so we changed it, remember? Not to kill unless absolutely necessary and believe me, this was necessary.’

   ‘She was there,’ Finn choked.

     ‘Huh?’

     ‘Bayley was there,’ Finn sighed. ‘She saw me… she saw everything.’ Finally he looked up at Punk with glassy eyes. ‘I thought I put this all behind me. The Bullet Club. Prince Devitt. I thought I could finally become something else, something better.’ He let out a stuttering breath, trying to make sense of his jumbled thoughts. ‘I… I can’t face her. Now she knows what kind of monster I really am.’ He bit the inside of his cheek. ‘I guess Seth was right about me.’

     Punk was taken aback as Finn openly poured out fragments of himself. It was bizarre seeing the normally guarded young man finally allow himself to expose his vulnerabilities. Obviously the concussion had a major role to play in crumbling Finn’s defenses and if Punk was honest, it made him a little uncomfortable but he swiftly ignored his own feelings. Finn was the one hurting here and he was looking to Punk for help.

     ‘Finn,’ he sighed as he took a seat next to the Irishman and leaned back against the wall, ‘Bayley puts on a brave face but remember, she’s lived through the Event and its aftermath just like everybody else. She’s seen some shit and I bet most of it was a thousand times worse than seeing you kill some guy who’d threatened to smash her skull in.’

     ‘I know,’ Finn murmured. ‘I just…’

     ‘You saved her life,’ Punk told him. ‘She won’t forget that in a hurry.’

     Finn let out a long, sad breath and closed his eyes.

     The pair sat in silence, soaking in the peaceful sleep of the night. The air was still, having forgotten the danger and violence that had played out mere hours ago. The brick at their backs was still warm from the fallen sun’s rays and Punk leaned into its glow, allowing his eyes to close and his other senses to take charge. He focused on the warmth between his shoulder blades and the wispy draught that mischievously tugged though his hair. His ears picked up the hush of the darkness around them. Softly, the silence melted away, replaced by the rhythmic sound of each raspy breath that escaped his companion’s chest. He sighed and opened his eyes once more.

     ‘We’re heading back,’ Punk said finally.

     ‘Do we have to?’ Finn grimaced.

     ‘We do,’ Punk said firmly but with a smile. ‘I need a good meal and my bunk while you still need medical attention. Also I don’t know if you know this but… you’re only wearing underwear.’

     ‘Not true,’ Finn said without opening his eyes. ‘I’ve got my jacket on too.’ A small smile crept across his face.

     ‘Yeah, well, it’s pissing me off so let’s get you home and put, say, fifty layers on you, alright?’

     ‘You need to let all that jealousy go, Punk,’ Finn teased, finally opening his eyes and grinning at the Chicago native. ‘It’s not healthy.’

     ‘Shut up,’ Punk smirked. ‘Right, where does it hurt?’

     ‘Everywhere,’ Finn replied.

     ‘OK, let’s put this another way, where does it hurt the least?’

     ‘Here,’ Finn said and held out his right arm. Punk grabbed it and helped the younger man to his feet. Placing Finn’s arm around his shoulder, he took his weight and helped him shuffle his way to the end of the road.

     ‘Do you know the way back?’ Punk asked.

     ‘No,’ Finn confessed, ‘but I doubt I got very far.’ He glanced behind them. ‘Hey, don’t you have barrels or something with you?’

     ‘Fuck ‘em.’

 

     Finn’s deduction was right and they found the gym only a couple of blocks over. As they neared the structure they currently called home, Punk began to tense and he could feel Finn doing the same.

     ‘Uh oh,’ Punk said, stopping in his tracks.

     ‘What?’ Finn asked, lifting his head up. ‘What is it?’

     ‘Colt’s waiting for us at the gates,’ Punk replied. Finn tried to focus his gaze and sure enough, found Colt standing outside the gates with John Cena.

     ‘Does he look mad?’ Finn asked, hesitantly.

     ‘Oh yeah, he’s _pissed_!’

     ‘At me or you?’

     ‘Both of us. At least you have an excuse – you got banged on the head and turned wacko.’ Finn snorted a laugh. ‘Me though… not so much.’

     Finn’s face scrunched up as he suddenly realised something. ‘Punk… what were you doing out here?’

     ‘Nothing important,’ Punk shrugged but Finn looked at him with curiousity. ‘So, we doing this?’ he said, motioning towards Colt with a tilt of his head.

     Finn took in a long, stuttering breath and slowly exhaled, coughing slightly as the sting hit his ribs. ‘Let’s get it over wit’.’

     Gingerly, the two runaways eased their way closer to the gym and the impending lecture that would inevitably ensue. Each step towards Colt revealed just how red his face was and each crease of fury across his brow. Sensing the palpable tension in the air, Cena politely, and curtly, excused himself, opting to leave Punk and Finn to face Colt’s wrath on their own.

     Finally, after several agonising minutes, Punk and Finn halted before Colt, their heads bowed in shame. The tension around them thickened to the point that if you stuck a spoon in, it would stand up on its own. The pair waited in dread, feeling the guilt pressing down onto their shoulders and wishing more than anything that it would be over with soon.

     Colt threw his arms around Punk and Finn’s necks and embraced them tightly. The tension melted away in an instant and both men heaved a drawn out sigh. Punk returned the gesture, placing his free hand on Colt’s back while Finn snuggled in closer, despite being in considerable agony from Colt’s tight grip.

     ‘You absolute assholes,’ Colt scolded in their ears, but his voice betrayed his relief at seeing the pair alive and well. ‘You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.’

     ‘I’m sorry, Colt,’ Finn said, his voice small and full of remorse.

     ‘You’re back, that’s all that matter,’ Colt said. ‘Just do me a favour and stay out of trouble for like, ten minutes!’

     Finn let out a small laugh. ‘I’ll try,’ he said, ‘but I seem to be a magnet for the stuff.’

     ‘Jesus, don’t I know it!’

     Finally the three men disentangled themselves from one another, Colt openly wiping away a little moisture from the corner of his eyes.

     ‘Colt, listen,’ Punk said. ‘I’m really sorry too-‘ He was cut off suddenly as Colt cuffed him on the ear. ‘OW! _What the fuck_?’ Punk exclaimed as he clutched his temple.

     ‘What the hell were you thinking?’ Colt yelled at his best friend.

     ‘I, well I, I….’ Punk stammered out, completely flummoxed by his friend’s sudden change in mood.

     ‘That’s the problem, you weren’t thinking,’ Colt continued his lecture. ‘You didn’t think that you could get lost? That you could run into danger? We know now that the Shield are still out there but we knew that before! What if you had run into Rollins just like Finn did?’ Finn lowered his head as he was reminded of his encounter with Seth. ‘Have you seen the number that guy did on him?’ Colt said, pointing at Finn who was still sporting the aftermath of the battle on his body. ‘Finn’s our best fighter. Better than the two of us combined and then multiplied by a thousand and he kicked seven shits out of him. If that was you, you’d be six feet under!’

     ‘I know that!’ Punk shot back, getting fed up.

     ‘You’d be fucking dead, Punk!’ Colt forced the point home. ‘But you know what’s worse? I wouldn’t even know.’ Finally he paused as a lump hitched in his throat. ‘You’d be out there on some random street, lying dead in a pool of your own blood and me, your best buddy, wouldn’t know where you were and what had happened to you. I wouldn’t even be able to bury you like we did Cliff, or mourn you. You’d just be gone. How can you expect me to live with that?’

     Punk was lost for words.

     ‘Colt… I… I’m sorry,’ Punk stuttered out.

     ‘No, I need more than just an apology,’ Colt rounded on him. ‘I need you to promise, _no_ , I need you to _swear_ to me that you won’t go out alone again. We’re in this together. We have been from the start and now we’re so close to the end we need to stick together more than ever. Swear to me, that you won’t pull a stunt like this ever again.’

     ‘I swear,’ Punk said.

     ‘By your mark, Punk,’ Finn cut in.

     ‘Huh?’ Punk and Colt said, turning around to face the Irishman.

     ‘Swear by your mark,’ Finn repeated, his ice blue eyes focused on the Second City Saint.

     Punk pursed his lips, clearly not happy about honouring his promise this way. He stalled, nibbling on his lip ring and shuffling his feet while both of his companions looked at him expectantly.

     ‘Fine!’ he relented. He lifted his right hand and placed it on the back of his left shoulder.

     Colt watched on, not fully understanding the meaning of the gesture. What significance did Punk’s bite wound hold? However, he could tell from both Punk and Finn that it was important to them and kept silent to respect the solemnness of the moment.

     ‘I swear by my mark,’ said Punk, and to his credit, he said it without a hint of irony, ‘to realise that I’m not alone in this world, that I don’t have to take on everything myself, especially when it puts my life at risk. I swear that I will come to you, Colt, or Finn or whoever, when I need it most and whatever we face in the future, we’ll do it together.’

     When he was done, he lowered his arm once more. He looked up at Colt expectantly.

     ‘That’s all I want,’ Colt said and began to smile. He patted Punk across the back and he knew his misstep had finally been forgiven.

     ‘So, April wasn’t at her apartment then?’ Colt asked in a quiet voice.

     ‘No,’ Punk replied. He knew that Colt would have figured it out. ‘In fact,’ Punk let out a long sigh, ‘she hasn’t been there for a very, very long time.’

     ‘Doesn’t mean anything,’ Colt told him, seeing how dejected his friend looked. ‘Everybody’s abandoned their homes here. She could be in another refuge like this one or staying with friends. I promise you, if she’s in this city, we will find her. Or if she’s packed up and moved on, we’ll keep searching for her. We’ll never give up, I promise.’

     ‘Thanks man,’ Punk said quietly, but it did little to lift his spirits from his failed efforts earlier.

     ‘Now,’ Colt said, clearly about to broach an uncomfortable subject, ‘moving on. I need your help. We don’t have a clue what to do about Seth?’

     ‘Rollins?’ Punk asked, furrowing his eyebrows. ‘You mean, how to dispose of him?’

     ‘Well I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that?’ Colt said with alarm.

     ‘Huh?’ Punk asked, scrunching up his nose.

     ‘We’ve got him in John’s gym room,’ he told them, and paused on seeing the look of disgust on both Punk and Finn’s faces. ‘Don’t worry, he’s handcuffed.’

     ‘HANDCUFFED?’ Punk exclaimed. ‘Why the fuck is he handcuffed? It’s not like he can go anywhere?’

     Now it was Colt’s turn to look confused, but he shook off the weird comment and continued. ‘I’ve managed to get him to talk a little but-‘

     ‘What?’ Punk interrupted. ‘You got a fucking Ouija board back there or something?‘

     Fortunately, Finn managed to read between the lines and figured out the significance of Colt’s words. He pushed past Punk and grabbed Colt’s shoulders, not daring to believe what he was hearing in case it was ripped away from him.

     ‘He’s… alive?’ Finn asked with hope.

     ‘Yeeaahhh,’ Colt replied. ‘Did you think he was-?’

     ‘You told me that I won the fight?’

     ‘Yeah, you did.’

     ‘But whenever I win a fight, I’m the only one left alive.’

     ‘You nearly were. I watched you do your whole ‘death from above thing’…’

     ‘I jumped?’

     ‘Yeah.’

     ‘Then how come he’s not dead?’

     ‘You spared him.’ Colt couldn’t see it but those three words sparked a light inside of Finn that radiated through his entire body. He dared not believe his friend’s words.

     ‘I… I did? But why, how did-?’

     ‘I don’t know what happened inside that head of yours,’ Colt confessed, ‘but you just changed your mind halfway through your jump.’

     Finn suddenly felt weak at the knees and nearly buckled from the realisation. As if he could read his mind, Punk said the exact words that were rushing through Finn’s head at that moment, over and over again in large neon letters.

     ‘See, you’re not a monster.’

     ‘You ok, Finn?’ Colt asked, giving the Irishman a worried look, noting how quiet he had gone. ‘Are you feeling dizzy? Is it the concussion?’

     ‘No, I’m great,’ Finn said and smiled from cheek to cheek.

     ‘Let’s get you back to the infirmary so Sasha can look you over,’ Colt said, leading the younger man back inside.

   ‘No!’ Finn said with a start.

     ‘Why? Did something happen? Colt asked. ‘Is that why you took off?’

     Punk, understanding Finn’s anxiety, stepped in. ‘Hey, just let him stick around with us for a bit. He’s had a rough night.’

     Colt nodded his reply while Finn smiled gratefully at Punk. Seeing that everything had been resolved between the three of them, Punk knew what he had to do next. He locked eyes with Colt, his face hard and determined.

     ‘I wanna talk to Rollins.’

 

     The whole feeling of the small gym room had changed. The mood was suddenly foreboding and heavy, the shadows suffocating. But it was the smell that hit Punk the most. The sickening concoction of a man’s sweat and blood and something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on but made his stomach lurch all the same.

     Punk pushed all of his apprehension down. The two men at his back looked to him as their leader and he had to justify their faith in him. He strode into the gym without a hint of fear, relieving Tye from his guarding duties with a simple motion of the head and took his place in the now vacated chair, locking eyes with the captive on the floor.

     Seth stared back through the gloom with a toothy smirk. ‘Had a feeling you would show up sooner or later,’ he sneered at Punk.

     His attention was abruptly diverted as Finn entered the room. Punk was certain that he saw Rollins flinch ever so slightly on seeing the Irishman but noted how quickly Seth quashed his dread. Seth’s eyes were trained on Finn, who never looked his way once, as he walked over to the far end of the room and took a seat on Cena’s weights bench. The silence in the room was deafening and the atmosphere electric as the two warriors who had torn each other to shreds hours ago came face-to-face once more. However, while Seth never took his maddened eyes off of Finn, the Irishman seemed uninterested in the Shield member. He leant against the cool brick wall behind him, his head back and his eyes closed, not even appearing to recognise that there was anybody else in the room.

     Punk watched the pair, sensing the power plays at work between them. He suddenly became aware of the intense heat in the small space.

     After several agonising minutes, Colt finally entered the make shift prison, holding a bundle of fresh clothes, which he promptly handed over to Finn before going to stand behind Punk. Placing the new clothing down, Finn tentatively removed his ragged leather jacket, revealing his naked torso.

     The rumble of a sinister cackle reverberated around the room.

     Finn paused. Finally, he looked over to Seth. The Shield member was staring intensely at him and smiling wickedly. Finn locked on with an icy glare.

     ‘Something funny?’ he growled.

     ‘Na, man,’ Seth heckled back. ‘Just admiring my handiwork.’ His eyes took in every bruise and laceration on Finn’s battered body, lingering especially around the large bandage taped to his ribs.

     ‘How’s the collarbone?’ Finn replied coldly and finally Rollin’s conceited demeanour broke. He snarled viciously back at Finn, who calmly turned away and pulled a red Nocks T-shirt down over his exposed chest.

     ‘You done?’ Punk asked the pair.

     ‘Wait your turn!’ Seth hissed at Punk. ‘We’re talking here.’

     ‘I’ve nothing more to say,’ Finn replied, not once looking up as he yanked on a baggy pair of Nocks sweats. ‘My fists did all the talking earlier.’

     ‘THIS ISN’T OVER YOU LITTLE PIECE OF-‘ Seth bellowed out as his rage took over.

     ‘My turn now,’ Punk said, cutting off Seth’s outburst.

     ‘I’ve nothing to say to you,’ Seth spat.

     ‘You don’t have any choice in the matter,’ Punk responded.

   ‘I already spoke to your ‘buddy’ over there,’ Seth said, pointing to Colt. ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

     ‘I wanna hear it from you,’ Punk said flatly and Seth snorted. He turned away from Punk and resumed his staring contest with Finn.

     ‘You said that Reigns and Ambrose are missing?’ Colt said, trying to encourage Seth to speak again. ‘Can you tell us everything that happened up until their disappearance?’ Seth didn’t respond. ‘Have you any clues as to where they might be?

     Again, Seth didn’t say a word. Colt let out a frustrated sigh while Punk ground his teeth together impatiently.

     ‘He said they had been missing for weeks,’ Colt told Punk, seeing that they wouldn’t get much else from their captive. ‘He thought Finn had killed them.’

     Seth gave a loud, obnoxious snort. ‘I see how stupid that is now,’ he said, aiming his retort at Finn.

     ‘I was _this_ close to killing _you_ ,’ Finn pointed out, calmly.

     ‘But you didn’t,’ Seth threw back. ‘I’m still here, aint I?’

     ‘We all make mistakes,’ Finn shrugged. This incensed Seth even more and he struggled furiously to get out of his restraints.

     ‘Hey, calm down,’ Punk ordered.

     ‘He’s fucking antagonising me!’ Seth yelled back.

     ‘Finn…’ Punk said in a warning tone. Finn shrugged again before leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes once more.

     ‘Ok, he’s not antagonising you now,’ Punk said to Seth. ‘Tell us what happened.’

     Silence hung around the room.

     ‘It was Dean’s idea,’ a small voice croaked out. Punk and Colt were stunned to see it came from Seth himself. His eyes were still transfixed on Finn but his features were softer, sad even. ‘From the beginning we had always been behind you guys, following you but after I was ambushed by ‘Lucky Charms’ over there,’ he shot a look of poison in Finn’s direction, ‘we decided to change tactics. We went ahead to Tampa and waited for you to arrive.’

     ‘A decent plan,’ Punk conceded, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

     ‘Only, you took longer than expected to arrive,’ Seth continued with his tale. ‘We each took turns going out on patrol to keep an eye out for you guys but days turned into weeks and still there was nothing.’

     ‘We got… held up,’ Colt informed him, having no intension of elaborating further on their misadventures in the cannibals’ compound.

     ‘Just over three weeks ago, I was out on patrol. I left Roman and Dean back at our base – this mini-market that had barely been touched by raiders. Anyway, I was out for close to nine or ten hours and when I came back, they were gone. Just vanished. Even their packs and most of the supplies from the market were missing.’

     ‘Maybe they moved on without you,’ Punk suggested but Seth fixed him with a look of pure fury.

     ‘They’re my brothers!’ he roared passionately. ‘We don’t leave anyone behind. Something happened to them! I don’t know what exactly, but they were taken by force.’ He paused to calm himself down. ‘I’ve been out searching all over this fucking city for them. For weeks I’ve barely slept, barely eaten, barely rested.’ All three men took his word on this, judging by Seth’s unkempt and manic appearance. ‘I then came across this camp a couple of days ago. I saw people inside and knew there could be a chance they were here. I hid and observed every coming and going from the place.

     ‘Yesterday morning, I saw a bunch of people leave and knew this was my chance. As night came, I tried to sneak over the walls. Only, my plans were ruined by that bitch with the pony-tail-‘

     He stopped on hearing a feral growl to his side. ‘Oh, _now_ you take notice,’ Seth smiled as he looked towards Finn, who’s features had turned dark, fire dancing behind his ice blue eyes. Rollins felt a surge of adrenaline at getting a rise out of the Irishman at last, and he wanted to see how far he could push it. ‘I was so close,’ he sneered at Finn, ‘so close to snapping her scrawny, little neck. I had both of my hands around her throat and only one teeny, tiny little jerk would just,’ he made a cracking noise and laughed as Finn bared his teeth at him. ‘It would have been easy,’ he said, ‘like breaking a twig in half. Only wish I could have had a little more fun with her before I-‘

     ‘You disgusting excuse for a-‘ Finn made a start for Rollins.

     ‘HEY! HEY!’ Punk was up and had his arms around Finn before he could reach Rollins. Despite his many severe injuries, Finn fought strongly against Punk’s grasp and he almost managed to force his way out but Punk held firm. ‘Calm down,’ Punk hissed in his ear.

     ‘I was wrong, Punk,’ Finn growled back. ‘I should have killed him when I had the chance.’

     ‘You’re angry and concussed. You’re not thinking straight.’

     ‘Let me go, Punk or I swear I’ll-‘

   ‘Calm the fuck down! NOW!’

     Finn finally relented and stopped struggling but the look of pure hatred he gave Rollins betrayed how he really felt.

     ‘Sit down,’ Punk ordered and Finn obeyed. Punk heard a manic chuckling behind him and slowly turned around to face Rollins who was clearly enjoying the show.

     ‘Aww, Irish,’ Seth taunted. ‘Is your Grandpa not letting you out to play?’

     This time it was Punk’s turn to stare daggers at the Shield member.

     ‘Let’s go cool off,’ he suggested through gritted teeth.

     ‘I’ll stay guard,’ Finn said.

     ‘I said, let’s go!’ Punk stood firm and Finn didn’t bother to argue. Silently, he stood up and hobbled out of the room.

     ‘Bye bye, Princey,’ Seth called after him.

     ‘Watch him,’ Punk ordered Colt, pointing to Seth.

     ‘Sure thing,’ Colt replied with a weary sigh.

     Punk walked out of the gym room and found Finn standing a few feet away, pacing back and forth with irritation. He stopped as he saw Punk approach.

     ‘I’m sorry I lost my cool in there,’ he said. ‘He just got under my skin. I don’t know if it’s the concussion or the beating he gave me tonight or-’

     ‘Or the fact he spoke about Bayley,’ Punk suggested and Finn went silent. ‘Go speak to her, Finn.’

     Finn shook his head and rubbed his tongue over his bottom lip. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I should just-‘

     ‘Stop stalling and go speak to her.’

     Finn lowered his head.

     ‘Alright,’ he said, finally. ‘I’ll go-‘

     ‘Punk!’

     The pair spun around to see Tye dashing towards them. ‘John and Sasha want to speak to you. All of you. They’re in the canteen.’

     ‘Y’hear that?’ Finn said with a shrug. ‘We’re being summoned.’

     ‘Fine,’ Punk relented, ‘but the second this is over, you will go talk to her.’

     Punk and Finn made their way to the canteen while Tye went to relieve Colt of his guarding duties. As they entered the large, airy room, they found it empty save for Sasha Banks, John Cena and Luci who were huddled in the rays of a single oil lantern.

     Cena jumping to his feet on seeing both men walk through the door. ‘Hey Finn, Sasha and Luci filled me in on what you did,’ he said, taking Finn hand and shaking it. ‘I can’t thank you enough for saving Bayley’s life.’

     Finn couldn’t find the words to respond so he just mumbled ‘thanks’ and hobbled off to take a seat at one of the tables in the corner.

     ‘I’m relieved you’re back,’ Cena said to Punk in a low voice. ‘Listen, I am truly sorry for what happened today. It was on my watch and I should have seen you disappear from the rest of the-.‘

     ‘It’s cool,’ Punk cut in. ‘It was on me. I chose to separate from the group.’

     ‘No matter, you’re back and it’s all worked out. Well, except for having a guy chained up in my gym room.’

     The door opened behind them and Colt walked in.

     ‘That’s everyone,’ Cena noted and went back to the spot he’d been sitting before.

     ‘Is this about Rollins?’ Colt asked as he took a seat next to Punk.

     ‘Uh…’ Cena paused and looked between Sasha and Luci. ‘Yes and no, I guess.’

     ‘There’s something we’ve been keeping from you,’ Luci took the reigns and steered the conversation. ‘We agreed not to until the time was right but now, after what happened tonight, we feel we should tell you.’

     ‘You’ve been lying to us?’ Punk asked, anger evident in his voice at the thought of being duped.

     ‘No,’ Sasha quickly stepped in. ‘We haven’t lied to you about anything. We’ve just withheld some information that you may find… interesting.’

     ‘Go on,’ Punk said and leaned forward, intrigued to hear further.

     ‘We’re not alone,’ she said at last. ‘We’re not the only community in Tampa.’


	37. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this?   
> Artwork?   
> You betcha!  
> [Finn Balor Profile](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Finn-Balor-Profile-829397771)  
> [Bonus Artwork](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/The-Boys-in-Skins-829397221)  
> (Sorry for the lack of artwork - life's been getting in the way. I'll try and post what I can but it'll be more sporadic)

     ‘There’s another camp like this in Tampa?’ Colt asked.

     ‘But I was out on the water run today,’ Punk pointed out, ‘and I didn’t see anybody else out there. Well, other than the runaway over here.’ He motioned to Finn with his thumb.

     Sasha nodded. ‘There’s only one other base that we know of – there could be more small settlements like we have here, but it’s not likely.’

     ‘So what is this other base?’ Punk asked, his mind already whirring with the possibilities.

     ‘It’s called Stampen,’ Cena said, ‘but most people call it Eden.’

     ‘But…’ Colt said, looking confused. ‘But I thought _this_ was-‘

     ‘You could say that we’re an offshoot,’ Cena replied ‘Stampen is the original Garden and, well…‘

     ‘We stole from them,’ Sasha interrupted. Everybody turned towards her. ‘We stole everything that we grow here from Eden.’

     ‘Take it those at Eden weren’t too happy about that?’ Punk queried.

     ‘They don’t even know we’re here,’ Sasha said. ‘If they found us, they would kill us all and burn the entire place to the ground.’

     ‘Woah, woah,’ Punk said, his thoughts spinning around his brain and making him dizzy. ‘I’m trying to process all of this. So this ‘Eden’… tell me more about it.’

     Cena took over the conversation. ‘At first, it wasn’t much bigger than ours here at Nocks. And it wasn’t the only one. There used to be several small settlements around the city - the perks of still having the sun shining down on us. Stampen was peaceful back then too,’ Cena said with sadness in his voice. ‘We all used to work together to survive and thrive.’

     ‘You were there from the beginning?’ Cena nodded. ‘So what changed?’

     ‘Our leader,’ Cena said. ‘The guy who began Eden was called Shawn Michaels, a born-again ex-substance abuser. Rumour was he’d moved to Tampa after retiring from the mob. But I gotta hand it to the guy, he was a good leader. Fair, strong, clever. Hell, I’ve never met anybody as clever as him… until Hunter strolled into town.’

     ‘Hunter?’ Punk asked, his eyes narrowing.

     ‘Hunter Hearst Helmsley,’ John clarified. ‘People used to call him Triple H. Him and Michaels were old buddies from their mob days apparently so when Hunter turned up at our gates, Michaels welcomed him in with open arms. Slowly, Hunter wormed his way in, suggesting ways to improve the Garden, to make it bigger and more lucrative. We didn’t see his corruption seeping in until it was too late.’

     ‘He created an army,’ Sasha cut in, ‘and went to each settlement in the city, stealing any crops they wanted and capturing any workers they found. Whatever (or whoever) they didn’t need, they left behind and burned to ashes.’

     ‘You were one of those captured?’ Punk asked, sensing the bitterness in her voice.

     ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Myself and Bayley.’

     Unseen in the corner, Finn’s head lifted slightly.

     ‘Before we knew it,’ Cena resumed his tale, ‘every other garden in the city had been invaded and destroyed. The Garden grew at a thousand knots and soon we didn’t have enough workers to keep it alive and healthy. So Hunter began recruiting.’

     ‘That’s when the rumours about the Garden of Eden spread,’ Sasha explained. ‘Those who were alone, hungry and desperate heard word of this haven in Tampa where they would have a roof over their head, food, warmth, every comfort imaginable. Dozens travelled from miles around for the chance at a better life after the Event.’

     Punk nodded his head. ‘We met a family on their way here who said the same thing,’ he concurred.

     ‘However, once they were inside, reality hit,’ Sasha continued on with resentment in her voice. ‘The place is a prison, heavily guarded and regulated, where people are worked like dogs and receive nothing more than scraps while Hunter and his cronies reap the rewards.’ Her face was etched with bitterness and her voice never wavered once.

     ‘How did you escape from there?’ Colt asked, taken aback by their revelation.

     ‘I’d been planning on leaving for months,’ Sasha said. ‘Each day, I stole something from the garden – a seed, a root, anything I could plant and grow myself – and I hid them away where nobody would find them. I knew even then that I wanted to start my own garden, one where everybody would be fairly treated and nobody would be stepped on like we were at Eden. The only problem was that I hadn’t the faintest idea how to get out of there. It was a fortress and if I tried anything I knew it would fail and end up with me being severely punished, killed even, if they found me with my stash. Every day I said ‘this is it’ but when night came, I chickened out.’

     ‘So what happened to change your mind?’

     ‘It was Bayley,’ she admitted with a sad sigh. Finn leaned in closer, listening intensely. Sasha sat for a while, gathering her thoughts and when she felt ready, she began her story. ‘Let’s get some context here,’ she said, ‘around half of the workers at Eden are women but almost every single guard is male.’ Already Punk could see where this was going and he felt a tightening anger at the pit of his stomach. ‘A place like that breeds some real creeps and the shining example of male fucking entitlement was Michael Noah Carter.’ Each name she said was dripping with poison and Punk actually saw her shudder from merely mentioning his name. ‘Violence against women in that place is disgustingly common,’ Sasha spat, ‘but Carter was on a different level. He didn’t just want to dominate our bodies, he wanted to dominate us entirely, our minds and souls.’

     She stopped again and bit her lip so hard it drew blood. ‘It was widely known that he would offer perks in return for ‘favours’. More food tokens, less physical work tasks, new boots, you name it, he could get it for you but only _after_ you sold your soul to him.’ She lowered her head. ‘I’m ashamed to say that I fell into his trap.’ The room went silent. ‘You can judge me all you like,’ she said, lifting her head and rolling her shoulders defiantly. ‘But you weren’t there. You don’t know what it’s like in that hellhole and you don’t know the desperation I felt.

     ‘I was fine when I was working in the orchard or garden. I have this weird talent with making things grow and I could help even the feeblest boughs bear fruit. However, it all went downhill when I was transferred to the hard labour sector. The heavy lifting hurt my back and I struggled to make my targets. If you don’t hit your targets, you don’t get your tokens. No tokens, no food. I soon found myself starving to death.

     ‘I knew of Carter – _everybody_ knew about Carter. I offered myself to him and in return he gave me tokens so that I could eat. Our little ‘arrangement’ went on for several weeks and even though it made me feel so sick, I kept going back to him. I was starving and when you feel that gnawing in your stomach every second of every day, you’ll do anything, _anything_ , to stop it.’

     Punk and Colt thought back to those few desperate days on their journey where they had experienced starvation and knew she was right. That intense, never-ending ache in their bellies had been torturous especially coupled with the dizziness and fatigue.

     ‘One night, I was sneaking out to see Carter,’ Sasha went on. ‘Bayley shared a room with me at the time and she caught me. She demanded to know where I was going and when I told her, she refused to let me leave. She actually physically restrained me while I screamed and cried, begging for her to let me go. In the end, she promised that she would get me some food so long as I swore never to see him again. I agreed just so that she would back off but sure enough the next day, she came to me with an armful of food. Enough to quash my hunger. From that day on, I never went to Carter again. It wasn’t until later that I learnt that she had bought the food with her own tokens, halving her own meager rations in the process. She didn’t mind taking the hit, so long as I didn’t sell myself to that slimeball.’

     Finn shifted awkwardly in his seat. Suddenly his fingers were restless and they began to fidget.

     ‘A few days later, Carter cornered me. He was furious that I had stood him up and ordered me to tell him why. I told him I no longer needed his ‘charity’ and that he could stick it where the sun don’t shine. By some ‘coincidence’ my targets were raised even higher but it didn’t matter, Bayley kept true to her word and brought me enough to live off each day.

     ‘To this day, I don’t know how Carter found out about Bayley. She was good at making herself invisible, keeping her head down and doing what was asked of her. She had never even been a beep on his radar, but now, after what she had done to deny him what he believed was his god-given right, she became his target. He began trying his ‘charm’ on her. Time and again he would corner her, offer her anything she wanted so long as she submitted to him. And each and every time, Bayley did what I couldn’t… she refused him.’

     The corner of Finn’s mouth lifted, proudly.

     ‘That was her biggest mistake,’ Sasha said darkly. ‘It was one thing to defy him, another to bruise that fucking huge ego of his. It soon became his goal to make Bayley’s life as miserable as possible. She was given back-breaking work, ridiculous targets and even when she pushed herself to reach them, her tokens would mysteriously disappear or another worker would jump her and steal them from her. She suddenly found herself as desperate as I was, but remember she still had two mouths to feed. I was blissfully ignorant of what was happening to her and still expected to get my fill. She called in favours, begged her friends for help and scrimped to gather what food she could get and each time, she shared the lion’s share with me. I was so self-absorbed at the time that I didn’t even notice how thin and gaunt she started becoming.’ The shame was overwhelming in Sasha’s voice but she carried on without even choking once.

     ‘When Carter saw his methods were not working, he turned vicious. That’s when the punishments and beatings began.’

     Finn decided that he’d heard enough. Silently, he slipped out of the canteen. Only Punk noticed the slight movement at the back of the room and turned around in time to see the door softly close.

     ‘Suddenly every guard in our section was on Bayley’s back. She was punished for the most minor indiscretions, most of which were just made-up by the guards. She was refused food and forced to drink salted water when she was out in the field under the sweltering sun. Guards would take her away for a few minutes and when she came back, she would be sporting fresh cuts and bruises. One time they even took her to solitary. When she returned, her wrist was broken but she had been refused treatment. She tried to hide her injury from me, but when she could barely dress herself I knew something was up. That’s when I finally found out about everything. About the suffering that she had endured just to protect me.

   ‘I set and bound her wrist as she told me about Carter and his agenda to break her. I couldn’t believe the burden she had carried all because she cared for a thankless wretch like me. I knew I had to repay her and decided that when I finally escaped, I would take her with me.

     ‘But I was still scared. Too scared to even tell her about my secret stash and my plan to leave that fucking place. I listened to her, I bandaged her wrist, I comforted her but in the end I did nothing. I was a coward.’

     Punk soaked in every word Sasha said. He couldn’t believe that Bayley, the girl who only the night before, had been laughing in that very room, had gone through so much suffering. He suddenly saw the young woman in a different light and couldn’t believe the strength she possessed. She had come through such hardships and still found the ability to smile, to care for and love those around her. To see the light in any situation.

     ‘One night, as Bayley was heading back to her room, Carter grabbed her and forced her into an empty room. He was sick of playing games with her and was going to take her there and then. As he grabbed at her, Bayley acted on instinct and raked his eyes. I hear he still can’t see fully out of one of them to his day.

     ‘Carter saw red and started to beat Bayley with no remorse. I always think about how she must have felt, trapped in that room with him. She would have been terrified, thinking this was it, this was the end. Yet she still had that courage to fight back. She managed to get Carter in a chokehold and squeezed his neck so tightly he passed out.’

     Now it was Punk’s turn to smile proudly. He’d been in that chokehold just the night before.

     ‘I found her after the attack,’ Cena picked up the tale. ‘She was panic stricken, thinking she had killed the guy. I always remember how, when she saw me, she begged for help, not for herself but for Carter. She actually begged me to save the life of the man who had been torturing her for weeks. It was only after I checked on Carter and confirmed he was still alive that she suddenly realised the consequences of her actions. The punishment for attacking a guard is three months in solitary, a bad enough fate, but worse would be waiting for her once Carter woke up and got his hands on her. But she didn’t panic, she didn’t cry, she just walked up to me and calmly handed herself in.’

     ‘Hold up,’ Punk broke in. ‘She handed herself in? To you?’ His teeth ground together. ‘Just what did you do exactly at Eden?’

     John’s blue eyes locked onto Punk’s hazel ones. ‘I was the Head Guard,’ he confessed. Punk knew he never liked the man and now his feelings had been justified.

     ‘You were in charge?’ Punk spat. ‘And you never did a thing to help?’

     ‘I knew some of my men had… unethical practices with some of the workers. I didn’t realise the extent of-‘

     ‘YOU KNEW?’ Punk yelled, standing to his feet and slamming his hands down on the table. He became aware of a stabbing sensation in his palms and looked down to see that his fists had been clenched so tightly that his fingers nails had sliced through his skin.

     ‘I knew,’ Cena said sadly.

     ‘And yet, you did fucking nothing?’

     ‘Punk!’ Sasha said. ‘It’s ok, we-‘

     ‘NO! No it’s not ok. How could he watch all this shit and not do a fucking thing to help.’

     ‘But he did help in the end, he-‘

     ‘It’s ok Sasha,’ Cena said, lifting his hand to silence her. He turned around to face Punk. ‘You’re right, Punk,’ he said. ‘What I did, or rather, what I let happen, it’s not ok. It’s unforgiveable. I live with that regret every day of my life.’ His voice was steady but his face betrayed the incredible remorse that he felt. Punk was still furious but he decided to abate his rage for now so that he could hear the rest of the story. Slowly he sat back down again.

     ‘Go on,’ he said at last.

     ‘I’ll always remember the look Bayley gave me when she handed herself in until my dying day. Her face all cut up and bruised, her own blood dripping off her chin. It was her eyes though, They were glassed over and full of desperation. One look at her and I finally admitted to the injustice of the whole situation. Carter had clearly crossed a line and she had only done what anyone else would do, defend herself, yet she would be the one punished for it. I had been in denial this whole time, sitting in my cosy room in the upper levels, turning a blind eye to those who were suffering below. But finally, with one look from Bayley, I found the strength to do what I had to do.

   ‘At that time, Carter came to. He saw me in the room with Bayley and started ranting and raving at me, saying that she had attacked him and that I knew the punishment. So… I slugged him in the face to knock him out again. I turned my back on the place I once called home. Bayley looked at me and said ‘what now?’ I said ‘we’re leaving’. She agreed but she had one thing to do first.’

     ‘And that was to get me,’ Sasha said with a warm smile. ‘We stopped only to grab my stash and we left Eden, never looking back once.’ Sasha looked towards Punk. ‘If it wasn’t for John, we would never have escaped. He escorted us through the building and even if we met other guards, he outranked them and they never questioned why he was walking around with two workers. He then snuck us out to one of the rear gates, ordered the night guard inside and when he was gone, we ran out and away. It was also him who suggested we come here to his gym on the other side of the city.’

     ‘It was only meant to be a temporary stop,’ Cena said, looking around the canteen fondly, ‘to allow Bayley to rest up before we moved away from this place. But once we got here, we had a revelation. We had the sun, we had Sasha’s seeds… we had a chance to create something for ourselves. Something better. That’s when Nocks was born.’

 

     Finn wound his way through the dark corridors, his clouded mind whirring round and round like a top. He had no idea how he found the door but there it was, lurking in front of him, tall, grey and solemn. He felt that same sense of dread that he did earlier but it no longer mattered. Something else had sparked within him. Something stronger. He was listening to it now.

     He knocked on the door.

     He waited a few minutes as he heard footsteps softly approach the other side.

     He watched as it opened.

     ‘Finn?’ Bayley said, wrenching the door open fully on seeing the Irishman lingering on the other side.

     Seeing her suddenly standing in front of him, the fog lifted and he wondered why he had worried all this time. Without thinking, he rushed forward, forgetting the pain in his body as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her tightly. Bayley stood shock still for a moment but on sensing the way he trembled as he desperately embraced her, she felt the overwhelming urge to comfort him. She draped her arms around his lower back, unknowingly squeezing his broken ribs but he didn’t care. All he could feel was the soft warmth from her touch as she nuzzled her face into his neck. He pulled her in closer and rested his own chin on her shoulder. Together, they stood there, entangled, each lost in the other while the night rolled around them.

 

     ‘So that’s how Nocks began,’ Sasha said. ‘The three of us building up our own little garden so that we could live freely. It was hard going at first until the first crops began to bloom. We had to raid nearby houses and live off of what we found. But once the garden started bearing fruit, it became a lot easier.’

     ‘Soon, we were joined by more people,’ Cena continued. ‘Most were those who had travelled to find Eden but stumbled upon us first. We didn’t have much but we had more than they did so they were willing to join us. Every so often others from Eden itself would arrive - those who were lucky enough to escape like us. You can always pick out those from Eden amongst out community. They’re the most dedicated and passionate about the Garden, thankful for what they have here.’

     ‘So how come you never told us about Eden before?’ Punk asked.

     ‘We were going to,’ Luci chimed in. ‘When you planned on leaving here we would have warned you about it.’

     ‘But then I ran off today and forced your hand,’ Punk noted.

     ‘They have a strangle hold on the west side of the city,’ Sasha said. ‘They patrol the area day and night. We would hate for you to get tangled up in their net.’

     ‘You mean they bring in anybody they find?’ Colt queried.

     ‘The Garden is still growing,’ Cena said, darkly. ‘They need a workforce to compete with the demand. Workers die, workers escape and they need to plug the gaps. Anybody they find wandering around their territory is fair game.’

     Punk read between the lines. ‘You believe that’s what happened to Reigns and Ambrose?’

     ‘It’s the most likely scenario,’ Luci confirmed. ‘They were in Eden’s territory, a patrol came across their base and captured them.’

     ‘Yeah, but Reigns and Ambrose?’ Colt cut in. ‘They wouldn’t have gone quietly. It would take some force to overpower them.’

     ‘They have the means,’ Luci said flatly. ‘That’s why I was always on watch for you guys coming too. The last thing I wanted was for you to fall in Eden’s hands. Thank the Gods you came in from the east side.’

     ‘So Reigns and Ambrose are trapped in Eden,’ Colt repeated out loud. ‘This is perfect. This solves all of our problems. We just dump Rollins in Eden territory, they take him in and its bye-bye Shield. They’re out of our hair. Easy going from now on.’

     While Colt spoke, Punk was noticeably quiet, his thoughts racing at a hundred miles an hour. All of a sudden, he leant forward, his face hard and his voice sharp.

     ‘Tell me what you’re holding back,’ he boomed over Colt, silencing the room. He stared straight at Luci, Sasha and Cena who looked back at him silently. ‘Tell me what you’re too chicken-shit to say.’

   Luci turned to Sasha with a sigh. ‘Tell him,’ she said.

     ‘Punk,’ Sasha said with her eyes firmly on the floor. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier but I thought it was for the best-‘

     ‘Spit it out!’ Punk growled between his gritted teeth.

   Colt looked between the pair, stupefied by the situation.

     ‘You needed time to recover and if I had told you, you would have left before you were ready. It would have been suicide-‘

   ‘TELL ME!’ Punk yelled, jumping to his feet so violently that the table in front of him toppled onto its side with a screeching thud.

     Sasha stood still, unfazed by Punk’s temper, but clearly afraid of the consequences her next words would bring.

     ‘April is at Eden.’

 

     Bayley had no idea how long they had stood tightly wound together and she did not care. She was lost in the warmth of Finn’s body as he pressed her close to him, his strong arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, sheltering her like the walls of a cocoon. She felt so safe in his embrace that she forgot all about the anxieties that haunted her every waking moment of her life and for once let her mind empty. She felt her body relax as her mind fell silent and still. She focused on him, the feeling of the soft, short hair at the back of his neck that tickled her cheek, the smell of fresh cotton from his T-shirt and the deep rhythm of each breath he took.

     ‘I’m so sorry.’

     The voice was hushed, barely above a whisper.

     Slowly, reluctantly, the pair pulled back from one another.

    ‘What?’ Finn choked out, his hands still on her shoulders.

     ‘Huh?’ Bayley said, acting surprised. ‘I didn’t say anything.’

     Finn narrowed his eyes at her and searched her face for the cracks in her defenses to help lead him to the truth behind her words. Bayley kept his gaze, looking deep into those penetrating blue eyes of his, the colour of a frozen lake with a mystic fire burning beneath the ice. However, this time, she also spied the shades of red and purple circling his left socket. Slowly, her gaze travelled up, following a dark red streak until it merged with several large, black stitches lining his forehead. She took in his short cropped hair slicked flat against his scalp with sweat and blood, several rebellious stalks sticking up at jaunty angles. Her gaze fell back down the right side of his face now and spied each cut, each bruise and each red rash where the asphalt had burned his skin. Finally it settled on his lips - lips that were so ripe and beautiful that all she wanted to do was merge them with her own, now stricken with scars. A large lump rose out of the centre of his bottom lip and she watched as he raked it with his teeth, subconsciously.

     Finn read the meaning behind her expression and edged in closer to Bayley, tilting his head slightly to the side. He paused and looked at her, asking for permission with his radiant eyes. An alarm was going off in Bayley’s head but she paid no heed, threw caution to the wind and crossed the final distance between them, locking her lips onto his.

     Her heart beat wildly on finally feeling the soft pink of his mouth and it tasted sweeter than she ever expected. She felt his warm, trembling arms wrap around her waist again, pulling her closer to his chiseled frame. She let go of everything around her, every ounce of anxiety and care, only focusing on him and their connection. Her hands took advantage of their newfound freedom and began to claw at his T-shirt, nearly ripping it. He pulled back for only a second to oblige, tugging the obscuring fabric over his head. He hissed as he did so but Bayley didn’t notice, she went in for the kill and took ownership of his mouth once more. Bayley felt a sharp tang on her tongue. Her heart pounded; this man had fought and bled for her. He had saved her life and wore the scars of that sacrifice.

     They came up for air, both overwhelmed with the passion of the kiss. Finn looked at her with the goofiest smile, panting with the thrill of the moment. He laughed at seeing the stunned expression on her face.

     ‘Crap!’ Bayley cursed suddenly and covered her mouth with her hands. ‘Crap, crap, crap.’

     His smile faded. ‘Bayls?’ he enquired, trying to reach out to her.

     ‘Oh crap, oh crap,’ Bayley spluttered and turned from him, rushing towards the door. ‘Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap.’

     She was gone before he could fathom what had gone wrong, leaving him alone in the room with a look of utter bewilderment.

    

     Bayley streaked through the corridors and rammed through the doors to the canteen. Everything inside the room was silent and still, the meeting from earlier having dispersed some time ago. Bayley, thankful for the darkness, shut the door and flung her back against them, covering her face with her hands.

     ‘Oh my god!’ she groaned. ‘Oh my god, kill me, kill me now.’

     ‘Bayley?’ A voice sounded out in the darkness, causing her to start. It took her a while to spot the figure sitting on one of the tables with its back to her.

     ‘Punk?’ she called out.

     ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

     ‘Oh my god, I’ve just done the stupidest thing ever,’ she confessed with a grimace, walking over to sit next to him on the table.

     ‘I’m sure it’s not that bad,’ Punk smiled at her. ‘I mean, this one time, I had this really nasty taco then during my match, this guy landed way too hard on my stomach and-‘

     ‘I just kissed Finn.’

     Silence rung around the room. ‘Oh…’ was all Punk said.

     ‘I don’t know what happened,’ she blurted out. ‘He came to see me and just grabbed me and hugged me and then I...’ She stopped and tried to make sense of everything. ‘It was just a spur of the moment kinda thing, you know? It’s like I wasn’t really in control of myself. Then he took his shirt off-‘ Her cheeks began to burn at the memory.

     ‘Told him to keep his fucking shirt on at all times,’ Punk muttered to himself.

     ‘What do I do?’ she spun around to face Punk and he stared back dumbfounded at her. ‘I’m sorry, ignore me, I just-‘

     ‘Do you like him?’ Punk asked and she paused.

     ‘I…’ she paused even longer, ‘…I thought I did.’

     ‘You don’t anymore?’ Punk smirked to himself. ‘He’s really that bad of a kisser?’

     ‘Oh no, he was amazing,’ Bayley quickly corrected him.

     ‘Throw me a fricking bone here,’ Punk grumbled. ‘He can’t be perfect at _everything_.’

     ‘I just… this is all my fault.’ Bayley dropped her face into her palms. ‘I’m just so… messed up inside. I want to be close to someone, I want to be… intimate with someone, so much, so bad. Really I do. But… every time I start something, it’s like _he’s_ -‘ her voice gave out. ‘I’m so confused. I like Finn. I mean, I _really_ like Finn and I want to… but, maybe it all went too fast, Maybe I just need to take it a little slower and…’

     ‘Why are you telling me all of this?’ Punk asked suddenly and Bayley felt a flush of guilt.

     ‘I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to hear any of this crap, I just-‘

     ‘No, that’s not what I meant,’ Punk cut in, placing his large, tattooed hand over her small, trembling one. ‘I mean, why are you telling _me_ this. Go and tell Finn. Just tell him the truth. He may be an infuriating asshole but he’s a good guy. He’ll understand.’

     ‘I can’t go and face him,’ Bayley winced. ‘Not right now.’

     ‘Tough shit,’ Punk scolded her. ‘You’re going right now, even if I have to hoist you over my shoulder and take you there myself.’

     ‘But what if-‘

     ‘Go!’ He placed a hand at her back and pushed her off the bench.

     ‘Ok, ok,’ she said, but she didn’t budge, instead she stood fidgeting nervously.

     ‘Bayley?’

     ‘Yeah?’

     ‘GO!’

     ‘I’m going, I’m going!’ she started to walk with a start but instead of heading for the door, she rushed towards the kitchen. Punk watched her go and threw his head back with a sigh. He heaved himself up from the table and followed her into the small aft room.

     ‘What are you doing?’ he asked as he watched her fill a large tub with water.

     ‘Nobody’s cleaned him up yet,’ Bayley explained, starting up the fire in the stove and placing the bowl on the top. ‘I’ll get some bandages and boil some water and it’ll give me something to do while I, you know, speak to him.’

     Whatever works for you,’ Punk said with a tired smile. He crossed his arms and leant against the doorframe. ‘By the way, Sasha told us all about Eden.’

     This caused Bayley to turn around. ‘Good,’ she said, her voice strong and steady. ‘I told her to.’

     ‘You did?’

     ‘After you went missing earlier today, I was so worried that something really bad had happened. That maybe you ran into an Eden patrol or something.’ She looked Punk in the eye. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I lied to you… about AJ, sorry, April. I didn’t like keeping it from you; I thought it was unfair.’

     ‘You should have told me,’ Punk said sternly.

     ‘I should have,’ Bayley agreed.

     ‘They thought they were protecting me,’ Punk explained, bitterly. ‘But I see that they were protecting you too. They didn’t want to broadcast what had happened to you there.’ Bayley said nothing, clearly the memories still stung her. ‘So, you call her AJ?’ Punk asked, his tone softer.

     ‘Yeah,’ Bayley smiled sadly. ‘Obviously I’d heard about her in the independent circuit too – the women’s wrestling circle isn’t exactly huge. But I hadn’t met her until Eden and even then our paths only crossed once or twice.’

     ‘Was she...ok?’ Punk asked, afraid of the answer. ‘Is she safe?’

     ‘She’s at Eden,’ Bayley told him sadly.

     ‘This Carter guy,’ he noticed how Bayley bristled at his name. ‘Did he ever…? To April?’

     ‘No,’ Bayley said without hesitation. ‘AJ was like me, good at keeping her head down. She never drew attention to herself and worked hard.’ Punk felt a pressure leave his chest. ‘Anyway, she’s far too headstrong. She’d never take any of his crap.’

     Punk involuntarily began to smile then. ‘That’s Ape, alright,’ he wondered to himself.

   ‘Are you going to Eden then?’ Bayley asked suddenly, catching Punk by surprise.

     ‘Yes. I have to.’

     ‘To save her?’

     ‘Yes.’ There was no waiver, no doubt in his voice.

     ‘Are you bringing Colt and Finn with you?’ Bayley’s true meaning rang through clear as day.

     ‘That’s not for me to decide,’ Punk warned her.

     ‘No,’ she sighed, ‘no it’s not.’

     The each bowed their heads and allowed the silence to speak for them. Their peace was interrupted by the sound of Bayley’s water boiling over. She cursed and grabbed the container from the heat using a pair of protection gloves. Placing it down gently, she went to snuff out the fire when Punk placed his hand on her shoulder.

     ‘Go,’ he told her,’ I’ll put it out.’

     Bayley floundered one last time. ‘But what about you?’

     ‘I’ll be fine, I’ll just-‘

     ‘On you go, Bayls,’ a voice said from behind them and she turned to see Colt walk into the kitchen. ‘I’ve got this.’

     ‘Ok,’ Bayley said, glued to the spot for a second. ‘Ok,’ she said again but this time making her way towards the door.

     ‘Your bowl,’ Punk called after her.

     ‘Oh! Yeah!’ Bayley turned around and quickly grabbed her bowl then disappeared out through the canteen doors.

     ‘So you’re the one who’s been playing match-maker this whole time,’ Colt said with a groan.

     ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Punk replied.

     ‘You know when I found out about this whole Bayley/Finn situation, I almost had another panic attack,’ Colt scolded.

     ‘I’m not doing anything, really,’ Punk replied airily. ‘Just giving them a little nudge.’

     ‘And if it doesn’t work out?’ Colt asked.

     ‘It doesn’t work out,’ Punk shrugged.

     ‘Seems pretty risky…’

     ‘More risky than fighting Rollins or taking on a Bullet Club coup?’

     ‘Fair point.’

     Colt walked over and crouched next to Punk who was smothering the stove fire. ‘So imagine my complete lack of surprise when I wake up and find you not in your bunk.’

     ‘Couldn’t sleep,’ he stated. ‘I needed some time to think.’

     ‘That’s what I was worried about,’ Colt sighed. ‘What’s going on in that fractured skull of yours?’

     ‘You’re not gonna like it,’ Punk warned.

     ‘Didn’t think I would.’

     ‘I have a plan,’ Punk said. ‘Well, the start of a plan. Only problem is, I made a vow earlier tonight to not go on risky missions on my own…’

     ‘I’m in,’ Colt said without hesitation.

     ‘It’s a terrible plan.’

     ‘Then I’m definitely in.’

     ‘I want Finn with us too.’

     That caught Colt by surprise. ‘Really?’ he said, raising a quizzical brow at his friend.

     ‘Kid’s really proved himself today,’ Punk replied. ‘We need someone like him to watch our backs.’

     ‘And try telling him _not_ to go,’ Colt chuckled, ‘he’ll find a way, regardless. He’s almost as stubborn as you. Almost!’

     Punk snorted a laugh. ‘There’s… something else…’

     ‘Jesus! What?’ Colt asked, dreading the answer.

     ‘You’re _really_ not gonna like it.’

     ‘Just tell me before I change my mind.’

 

     Bayley stood outside her door, catching her breath before she had to face the music. Cautiously, she opened the door, half expecting Finn to have left after she had utterly humiliated him before. However, she found him lying on her bunk. Even though she started on seeing him, her insides began to warm again. Finn, on the other hand, sensing her return, sprang up out the bunk like a child caught with his dirty shoes on the new sofa.

     ‘I wasn’t sleeping, I promise,’ he called out. ‘Woah,’ he winced as a wave of dizziness hit him.

     ‘Are you ok?’ Bayley said, dropping everything onto the floor and rushing over to him.

    ‘Urgh, I’m fine,’ Finn told her feebly.

     ‘No you’re not,’ Bayley told him, feeling panic rise in her as she spied his eyes rushing around his sockets.

     ‘It’s just the concussion,’ Finn explained. ‘It’ll right itself soon.’

     ‘You have a concussion?’ Bayley asked, sorrowfully.

     ‘Apparently, it was the hammer,’ Finn shrugged, ‘you probably remember it better than I do.’

     Bayley did remember but she didn’t want to. ‘Finn…’ she sighed. She placed her hands on Finn’s face, her fingers absentmindedly stroking the area just under the stitches on his forehead where Seth’s weapon had struck. She was thankful that she hadn’t escaped the darkness fully at that point but she could vividly remember that shard of red stabbing the sky, the shape of Finn crashing to the ground like a fallen star.

     She heard a contented sigh and looked down to find Finn chin nestled in her hands, a peaceful smile on his face.

     ‘This feels nice,’ Finn purred. His head started to grow heavy in her palms.

     ‘Hey, Finn!’ she scolded, lightly shaking his head. ‘You can’t sleep right now. Wake up.’

     ‘But I’m so tired,’ he groaned and began to doze off again.

     ‘Hey,’ Bayley said, letting go of Finn’s face. His head fell forward and bounced back up as his neck took ownership of it again. His eyes opened with surprise and watched as she turned her back to him. Without warning, she spun round and a blast of cold water hit him square in the face.

     ‘WHA-?’ Finn yelled out, flailing wildly. ‘WHAT THE HELL, BAYLEY!’

     ‘I’m sorry, I thought it would help,’ Bayley said, watching the ridiculous display. She bit her lip trying hard not to laugh at his overreaction, but one giggle escaped through her defenses. Finn immediately stopped flailing on hearing her amusement and sat still, his lips pursed in a moody scowl.

     ‘You t’ink this is funny?’ he grumbled.

     ‘Noooo,’ Bayley said, stifling her laughter.

     ‘You t’ink it’s amusing to just squirt people in the face?’

     ‘It worked didn’t it?’ Bayley said with a shrug. ‘You’re not sleepy anymore.’

     ‘I swear, if I was in better shape right now, you would _not_ be laughing.’ He was trying to remain serious and scary but the smile curling at the edge of his lips gave him away.

   ‘Pfft, I’d like to see you try,’ Bayley said with a self-assured sassiness.

     ‘I’ll get you yet,’ he warned her, his smile widening. ‘I swear I will and I’m a man of my word.’

     ‘Bring it on,’ she said defiantly.

     The pair of them broke into laughter. At last, the pressure lifted from Bayley’s shoulders as the tension around them dissolved. She loved Finn’s laugh. It was higher pitched than she expected, a care-free giggle, utterly adorable and highly contagious. The more he laughed, the more she did and so the vicious cycle continued round and round.

     Eventually, Finn’s ribs could take no more and he wrapped his arm around them to try and stop the stinging in his side. Bayley noticed the gesture and her laughter started to dim.

     ‘You ok?’ she asked, watching as the grip on his chest tightened.

     ‘Of course I’m ok,’ he grinned back. ‘It was just a little water.’

     ‘No, I mean your ribs.’ Bayley got up onto her knees and reached out to his side.

     ‘Oh, them?’ Finn said, taking his hand away from his side. ‘Don’t mind them.’ He tried to catch her eye but they were focused on his torso, her face etched with concern. ‘I know I should have left after what happened earlier,’ he said and this brought her back to him, ‘but I didn’t want to leave things weird between us. I’m really sorry I made you uncomfortable. I completely misread the situation.’

     ‘You didn’t,’ Bayley reassured him. ‘I wanted it. I really wanted it… and I enjoyed every second of it.’

     ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but usually when I kiss a girl and they like it, they don’t run away yelling ‘crap’ over and over again.’

     ‘I was embarrassed,’ Bayley confessed, shyly.

     ‘I don’t know why,’ Finn said, leaning in, ‘you’re an incredible kisser.’

     Bayley felt a flush appear on her cheeks and she dipped her eyes away from him. Finn was getting closer to her again and she was starting to want it, feeling a heat rise up in her.

     Quickly, she turned from him, cutting him off. He fell back, watching with startled eyes as she flung the tub of water between them. He tried to ask her what she was doing as she ripped open a pack of gauzes with her teeth and dipped them into the water.

     ‘Come closer,’ Bayley beckoned but he kept his distance.

     ‘Are you going to splash me again?’ he asked suspiciously, eyeing the water.

     ‘No,’ she laughed, ‘I’m gonna clean you up.’

     He leant forward as Bayley wrung out the cloth and brought it up to his face. The blood that caked his handsome features was dried solid and it took some force to scrub it off but she made sure not to upset his already sensitive wounds. Finn closed his eyes and relaxed. As always, she was gentle and attentive, doing her best not to hurt him, which made him smile as it took a lot to cause him pain. Shattered ribs and a fractured leg may make him wince but they only slowed him down, a concussion rattled his senses but didn’t knock him back. Instead, the thing that pained him most was the next four words from Bayley’s mouth.

     ‘Finn… I’m a mess.’

     She had blurted them out, and it felt like a heavy burden had inflated and lifted from her body. There she had said it, he may do with it what he may.

     He opened his eyes and looked at her, his face a picture of concern. He said nothing but she could tell from his expression that he wanted her to go on. She wanted to as well but was struggling to find the words. She continued cleaning the blood from his face as she tried to process her thoughts.

     ‘Everybody thinks that now because I’m out of Eden, that I’m somewhere safe with people who’ll care for me and protect me and that I’m no longer in danger, that it’s all over,’ she explained, ‘but it’s not. Not for me. I can’t just switch off all the… fear that I felt when I was in there.’ She fumbled, looking for the next line. ‘Sasha called it PTSD. She said my mind is trying to process what happened and that it’s still healing from the trauma. Normally, she would have prescribed me some pills to take and maybe enroll me in counseling but, well, you know… the whole apocalypse thing. So instead, I’ve just had to deal with it myself.’

     Finn didn’t say a word, instead he watched her steadily and nodded to show her he was listening with every ounce of attention he had.

     ‘It’s nowhere near as bad as it was when we first came here,’ Bayley went on. ‘The further away it becomes, the easier it is to feel like it never happened. I used to have night terrors and wake up screaming, now I just have dreams from time to time. That’s why I was awake the other night when Punk came into the canteen.’ She stood up and began to scrub Finn’s hair. He reluctantly dipped his head to help her reach better but he felt uncomfortable; he wanted to keep his eyes on her face as she spoke.

     ‘That night with Punk and Colt was amazing,’ she smiled broadly. ‘It helped me take my mind off Eden completely. I actually slept that morning for a few hours and woke up feeling new and refreshed. My body was killing me but, in a good way. I know that sounds crazy. It only got better though, spending the day with you.’

     Finn wanted desperately to gaze upon her expression, see the meaning behind what she was saying. He couldn’t tell what her true intentions were unless he could see her properly but he kept his head down obediently.

     ‘The other side effect,’ Bayley’s voice turned solemn again as she turned to dip the soiled cloth back into the water, ‘is the black outs.’ She returned to Finn and began to scour the red stains from his neck. ‘I used to do it when I was at Eden, it was like a safely net or something. Every time, he or his stupid cronies cornered me and began to beat me, I would just curl up into a ball, close my eyes and shut down completely.’

     Finn almost choked on hearing these words. He had left the canteen during Sasha’s telling of Bayley’s story because he couldn’t stand to listen to any more of the suffering she had endured but now he was being forced to hear it from Bayley herself. It tore him up inside and he wanted nothing more than to cut her off but that would be wrong. She was finally opening up about it and she trusted him, above everybody else, to be the recipient; he owed it to her to listen and to take it all in, whether it hurt him or not. He felt a sting near his mouth and realised he had bitten down hard on the swelling on his lip.

     ‘It worked very well,’ Bayley continued, ‘I never even noticed when they left. I just woke up in a pool of my own blood and went back to my room. The time they broke my wrist in solitary, I didn’t even notice,’ she walked around him to focus on his back, missing the choke that emanated from his throat. She paused as she brought in the sight she had missed earlier. His back was splattered with deep red and purple bruises, some were so bad that she could actually make out the imprint of Seth’s boot on his skin. She composed herself and continued. ‘It was only when I noticed how swollen it was and how I couldn’t move it that I knew there was something wrong. Nobody came to treat me though and it was only once I got out that Sasha set it for me. It’s still not 100% right but I can deal with that. It could have been so much worse.

     ‘I came to rely on the black-outs, enjoy them even. That’s why when earlier… with that guy…’ she floundered as she finally found the bandage taped across Finn’s side and the emotion began bubbling wildly inside of her. ‘I know I should have ran, or maybe even tried to fight him. It would have saved us, both of us. But I just froze. I was so scared. He had nearly killed me and I thought he was going to kill you too. That scared me more than anything. I just… reverted back to what I knew, what I always did and I blacked out. Because of me you had to fight him and look at what happened-‘

     The emotion erupted and the tears began streaming down her face. In an instant Finn rounded on her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in tight, feeling her hot tears run down his bare chest.

     ‘We made it, Bayls,’ he tried desperately to soothe her. ‘We’re both alive.’

     ‘But look at you,’ Bayley wept back, ‘look at what he did to you.’

     ‘Wounds heal,’ he told her, kissing her softly on the crown of her head.

     ‘This is all my fault,’ she sobbed, ‘when I saw them carry you into the infirmary, I couldn’t stand it. Seeing you unconscious on the gurney, I thought you would never wake up. I couldn’t face you, so I ran and I hid from you all day. I couldn’t believe what I had done to you.’

     ‘Rollins did this to me, not you,’ he told her sternly. ‘He’s the only one to blame.’

     ‘He could have killed you.’

     ‘He didn’t.’

     ‘Why did you do that?’ she shot at him. ‘Why did you even bother trying to save me? I’m nothing. Just a useless waste of space. I don’t mean anything to you.’

     ‘Bayley, look at me,’ Finn told her. She only dug her face deeper into his chest. ‘Bayley, you don’t have to hide from me. Please, look at me.’

     Hesitantly, she lifted her head but her eyes couldn’t quite reach his.

     ‘You’re wrong,’ he said and she finally found the strength to meet his piercing gaze. She gasped on seeing how glassy they were, even though no tears streaked his cheeks. ‘You’re not nothing to me.’ Bayley’s eyes widened. ‘Bayley, I shouldn’t have won that fight. Even in my prime, I would have been, at best, an even match with Rollins but with a broken leg, I was as good as beaten. There is no way on earth that I should have won.’

     ‘But…’ she stammered, unable to find the words.

     ‘Except that I had no other choice. I _had_ to win. Because, if I lost, it wouldn’t just be my own life, it would be yours too and there was no way in hell I was going to let that happen. _You_ were the one who pushed me on, _you_ were the reason I won.’

     ‘Me?’ Bayley asked back in wonder. ‘Really?’

     ‘Bayls, the guy smashed me in the head with a hammer. He broke my ribs. I could barely stand. I could barely breathe. I can’t even remember half of the fight, I blacked out completely. But, somehow, I still won.’

     ‘But if it hadn’t been me, say it had been Colt, or Punk?’

     ‘I would have fought with all of my heart and soul,’ Finn said back firmly, without even a single hesitation. ‘They are my brothers and I owe so much to them. I would have done everything in my power to protect them.’ He spoke with such fiery passion that it made Bayley’s spine tingle. ‘I would have fought until my dying breath,’ he continued, ‘but I would never have won.’

     Bayley was shocked to her very core. She sat still, feeling as if her soul had left her body and was lingering in the air above her. She had never been important. She was just plain, old Bayley. How could this man she barely knew sit across from her and tell her such things?

     ‘I… I don’t know what to,’ she stuttered, feeling a fear inside her but something else more intense than that too, something burning.

     ‘Can you promise me something?’ Finn asked.

     ‘Anything!’ Bayley said without hesitation.

     ‘Never say that again. You are not a waste of space. Far from it. You mean so much to those around you, you have no idea.’

     ‘Really?’ Bayley uttered. ‘Even you?’

     ‘Especially me,’ Finn smiled widely at her and she felt her heart flutter around her chest. She hitched a breath, trying to organise the words in her head that were flapping around her like birds caught in a tornado. Her stomach knotted up as she found her voice.

     ‘You mean a lot to me too.’ She paused as she wiped her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve. ‘I didn’t mean to get all upset.’

     ‘Like I said, you don’t have to hide from me.’

     ‘I don’t, do I?’ Bayley smiled weakly. ‘I’ve never really spoken about Eden like that before, not even to Sasha. It’s always been too painful. But once I started talking to you, it was almost like the words came spilling out of my mouth. It’s so easy to speak to you.’

     She caught Finn’s gaze once more and smiled dreamily at him. Slowly, she edged her face towards his.

     Finn placed his finger on Bayley’s lips and stopped her in her tracks. She jumped and looked at him with a startled expression. He grinned warmly back.

     ‘I can see where this is going,’ he told her, ‘and we know how that ended last time. My pride can’t take another beating today.’ He saw the disappointment on his face and went on to explain. ‘It’s been an emotional day, and you’re already working through so much right now. You know yourself that you need to focus on you first, find _your_ happiness before you share your life with someone else.’

     Bayley nodded sadly. ‘You’re right,’ she sighed. She had known that earlier when she had reacted to their kiss that way. Her feelings and emotions were all tangled up in a garbled web so thick she had no idea where to start in order to straighten it out. She only knew that Finn was her hero and she had rushed towards him, believing it the right thing to do.

     ‘But you have to know this,’ Finn went on. ‘I’m here, right by your side. Whenever you need me, I’ll be there. If you ever want to talk about what happened, get something off of your chest, even if you just need me to keep you company at night or hold you, I promise you, I will be there.’

     ‘Thank you,’ she smiled at him. ‘That’s exactly what I need right now. But, can you promise me something else?’

     ‘Anything.’

     ‘Please don’t hide from me either.’ This took Finn aback. ‘If you ever need to talk or open up about what you’ve been through, just speak to me. I can see it in your eyes. There’s hurt in there that you’re trying to mask too. I’ll always be here for you too, if you need me.’

     ‘I promise, thank you.’

     ‘Ok,’ Bayley said, wiping the last of the moisture from her eyes. ‘You’re looking better but there’s still a lot of work to do. Let’s get you all fixed up and then you can finally rest. You deserve it.’


	38. Punk's Terrible Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 38 cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-37-cover-830183423?ga_submit_new=10%3A1581508666)

     The sun rose the next morning, casting a palette of orange and red across the Floridian sky. Gentle rays of light filtered though the gauzy curtain into the room Bayley shared with Sasha and softly landed on Finn’s face. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the warming sensation, feeling a level of peace and calm he had not experienced since the world around him collapsed.

   He looked down at the young women wrapped in his arms. Once Bayley had patched him up the night before, she’d been hesitant about him leaving. She was growing scared again, remembering the events of that evening. She had asked him if he would stay with her that night, she didn’t want to be alone. He had agreed. Both fully clothed, they lay on her bunk under a blanket. With Finn’s strong arms swaddling her, she had finally felt safe and for the first time in almost two years, she had slept.

     Finn smiled at her, proud of this first step she had taken to recovery and he planted a feathery kiss on the crown of her head. Unknown to Bayley, he had stayed up the whole night, guarding her closely, waiting for the dreams to come so that that he could chase them away, but none manifested.

     He would do anything to protect her.

     Anything! Without a single hesitation!

 

     Later that morning, Finn was sneaking back into his room he shared with Punk and Colt, hoping not to disturb the pair. He needn’t have bothered, however, as he was met with jeers from his roommates who were very much awake.

     ‘There he is,’ Colt beamed.

     ‘What time do you call this?’ Punk asked with a cheeky grin on his face.

     ‘Sorry, I was… occupied,’ Finn smiled back.

     ‘You’re looking much better,’ Colt said, noting how he’d been cleaned up and all of his wounds wrapped in bandages. His face and arms were now a patchwork of band-aids.

     ‘Yeah. I was with Bayley. She patched me up.’

     ‘That was good of her,’ Punk said, his grin growing wider.

     ‘It was,’ Finn said, simply and went to sit on his bunk. However, he became aware of the expectant eyes on him.

     ‘Sooooo?’ Colt asked, a little too keenly.

     ‘So… what?’ Finn asked.

     ‘You gonna tell us what happened?’

     ‘I told you already. She patched me up, we talked for a bit… that was it.’

     ‘That was it, huh?’ Punk queried, looking skeptical.

     ‘And that took you… all night?’ asked Colt.

     ‘No…’ Finn was getting uncomfortable and annoyed.

   ‘I knew it,’ Colt said, slapping his hands together. ‘So what happened?’

     ‘You guys are pigs,’ Finn scolded the pair.

     ‘Yeah, yeah, we know. So…?’ Colt pushed the younger man on.

     ‘So, nothing. Nothing happened.’

     ‘Aww come on, Finn,’ Colt sulked like a child. ‘I told you all about my toe infection, the least you can do is show me the same courtesy and give me some gory details.’

     ‘Ok, you wanna know what happened?’ Finn said, leaning forward.

     ‘Sure do,’ Colt said, both him and Punk shuffling to the front of their bunks.

     ‘You really want to know?’

     ‘Go on…’

     ‘We talked for a bit, then we fell asleep.’

     The atmosphere dampened immediately.

     ‘What?’

     ‘That’s it. That’s all that happened.’

     Punk and Colt stared at him, frozen for a few seconds before Punk let out a large, belly laugh that shook the whole room.

     ‘Pay up!’ he said to Colt, holding out his hand.

     ‘Dammit,’ Colt cursed before grabbing his pack and handing Punk a small bar of chocolate.

     ‘Wait, what?’ Finn asked the pair, confused.

     ‘When you didn’t come back to the room last night, we decided to have a little wager,’ Punk explained. ‘Luci came back from patrol this morning with a stash of chocolate, enough for one whole bar each. We put a bar on the line.’

     ‘Thanks man,’ Colt fixed Finn with a poisonous stare. ‘I lost out thanks to you. You have any idea how excited I was for that?’

     ‘Well, that’s what you get for making stupid bets about… wait-‘ Finn shook his head. ‘What exactly did you think was going to happen?’

     ‘Nothing,’ Punk put up his hands.

     ‘He told me you two had kissed,’ Colt blurted out.

     ‘DUDE!’ Punk shot at his best friend.

     ‘You know?’ Finn confronted Punk.

     ‘Bayley told me,’ Punk explained. ‘And I’m the one who talked her into going back and speaking to you about it so you’re welcome.’  

     ‘Yeah,’ Colt butted in, ‘then when you didn’t come back last night, he was wondering whether your ‘talk’ went well-‘

     ‘DUDE!’ Punk yelled at Colt.

     ‘DUDE!’ Finn yelled at Punk.

     ‘DUDE!’ Colt yelled at Punk.

     ‘Why are _you_ yelling at me?’ Punk confronted Colt.

     ‘Because you’re disgusting,’ Colt said, to which Punk replied by taking a large, noisy bite out of Colt’s chocolate bar. ‘You’re such a dick,’ Colt muttered.

     ‘Well, nothing happened,’ Finn clarified. ‘Punk won the bet, that’s it. Done.’

     ‘Kids these days, huh?’ Punk shook his head, munching his chocolate right next to Colt. Having enough, Colt swiped the chocolate out of Punk’s grasp and crammed it all into his mouth, chewing it slowly and loudly as Punk looked on.

     ‘So where’s my chocolate?’ Finn asked the pair.

     ‘That was your chocolate,’ Punk smirked.

     Finn froze, a murderous look on his face. ‘You two are the biggest pair of arseholes in the entire world.’

     ‘Eh, snooze, ya lose,’ Punk shrugged as Colt finished off the treat.

     ‘Whatever,’ Finn shook his head. ‘Speaking of snooze, I’m exhausted and I’ve been told to rest – Doctor’s orders – so if you don’t mind, I’m going to catch forty winks.’

     ‘Yeah sure,’ Punk replied. ‘Come on, Colt. We’ll find somewhere else to talk about our plan of breaking into Eden.’

     ‘You’re what?’ Finn said, bolting up from his bunk like a shot and immediately winced. ‘You’re going to Eden?’

     ‘I thought you were tired?’ Punk looked at him accusingly over his shoulder.

     ‘I’m awake now,’ Finn said and sat upright again. ‘You’re seriously going to Eden? What’s brought this on?’

     ‘We now know that April is there,’ Colt told him and Finn’s face fell. ‘Naturally, Punk can’t settle knowing this and he’s sticking by his promise to not go things alone so I’m going too.’

     ‘And let me guess, I’m too hurt and I need to rest up so-‘

     ‘I want you with us,’ Punk said, stopping Finn in his tracks.

     ‘What, really? But earlier-‘

     ‘After seeing you put the boots to Rollins, we would be crazy not to take you too,’ Punk said, lightly clapping Finn across the shoulder. The Irishman looked over to Colt with a dazed look, but he just smiled back.

     ‘What’s the plan?’ Finn asked.

     ‘So this is what I had in mind,’ Punk went on to explain. ‘Us three are going to walk up to Eden and hand ourselves in, we then find April and get out of there.’

     They waited for a response from the former Bullet Club leader.

     ‘That’s it?’ Finn gaped. ‘That’s the plan?’

     ‘That’s what we’ve hashed out so far.’

     Finn paused. ‘That’s a terrible plan!’

     ‘Told ya,’ Punk said to Colt with a smile.

     ‘Hey, we’ve been working on this all night,’ Colt moaned to Finn.

     ‘All night? It’s not even a plan!’ Finn argued.

     ‘It worked in Return of the Jedi,’ Punk said.

     ‘That’s a movie! This is the real world and in the real world there’s no guarantee that once we get into Eden, we’ll be able to get out.’

     ‘He hates the plan,’ Colt said to Punk.

     ‘It’s not even a plan!’ Finn argued.

     ‘You better tell him,’ Colt turned to Punk again.

     ‘Tell me what?’ Finn asked.

     ‘He hasn’t heard the worst part yet.’

     ‘What? There’s more? What’s the worst part?’

     ‘He’s not gonna like it.’

     ‘What is it? Tell me!’

     ‘Tell him.’

     Punk finally looked at Finn and nervously nibbled his bottom lip.

     ‘Oh no,’ Finn groaned. ‘I’m really not gonna like his, am I?’

 

     Seth Rollins leaned against the cool iron of the gym equipment he was cuffed to and tried to get some sleep but it stubbornly eluded him. He was uncomfortable, in great pain and sweating profusely from the intense heat in the small, compact room. Seth had never been in a prison before but he had to admit from experience that this was the worst one. The humiliation he had to endure was unbearable. First there was his defeat to a short, skinny cripple and now his humbling by his captors. He glanced over at the bucket located a mere foot away from him and winced. He refused to give them any more of his pride, no more… but he had been downing water like a man stuck in the desert and soon he would have to address that.

     ‘Hey man?’ Seth turned to his latest guard who had taken over from the one he gathered was called Tye. ‘Can you give me a hand?’ The man looked silently back at him. ‘It’s just, there’s this itch on my back that’s been bothering me for like, forty minutes and well…’ he raised his cuffed hands to demonstrate how useless they were. ‘You mind?’

     Again, the man stared silently back.

     ‘I’ll be your pal?’ Seth tried to bargain.

     No reaction.

     ‘You know what, man? You’re great company, I feel like we’re really connecting, you know, what with these long conversations we have…’

     The door to the make shift prison opened and Seth tensed on seeing Punk, Colt, Finn, Luci, Sasha and Cena walk into the room. John relieved the guard of his duty and once he was out of the room, everybody tried to get as comfortable as they could in the now very cramped space and their gazes each focused on their prisoner.

     ‘Weeelllll,’ Seth grinned back at them all. ‘This looks ominous. I take it you’ve come to a verdict, huh?’

     ‘We have,’ Punk said, staring daggers at Seth.

     Seth nodded his head in bitter understanding. ‘So this is it? This is how it all ends. I can’t believe that Seth freakin’ Rollins was finished off by a bunch of amateurs. So who’s gonna do it, huh? Is it you?’ He asked, looking at Punk. ‘Cause if I’m through, I wanna go out on _my_ terms and I won’t be done in by some tattooed street trash like you.’ He scanned the room until his eyes rested on Finn. ‘You do it,’ he snarled at the Irishman. ‘You started this. This is all your handiwork. The least you can do is finish the job. Just do me one favour, right? Make it fucking quick because I am not wasting a single second more being stuck in this dump with scum-sucking garbage-‘

     ‘My god, do you _ever_ stop talking,’ Colt cried out, halting Seth in his speech. The room went silent once again. Colt leaned in close to Punk and whispered in his ear. ‘You really sure about this? After this, there’s no backing out.’

     ‘We’re doing this,’ Punk said back.

     ‘You girls finished gossiping over there?’ Seth spat. ‘The suspense is killing me, but sadly not literally so can we just skip to the end real quick?’

     ‘Fine,’ Punk said to Seth and looked him dead in the eye. ‘We’re not gonna kill you.’

     ‘There’s a ‘but’ isn’t there? I feel a ‘but’ coming and I’m not-‘

     ‘We know where your brothers are?’

     That shut Seth up.

     Well… almost.

     ‘You know?’ he uttered, stunned from the shock.

     ‘Truthfully, we _think_ we know,’ Punk corrected.

     ‘Well, which is it? Do you know or do you not?’ Seth shot back. ‘Give me a percentage.’

     ‘97%.’

     That seemed to satisfy Seth enough. ‘Where are they?’

     ‘There’s another settlement in the city known as Eden. Unlike here, it’s larger and heavily guarded. We believe they were ambushed and taken there.’

     ‘Why are you telling me this?’

     ‘Because someone important to me is also being held there. We’re going to get them out.’

     ‘You’re going to this Eden place? So what does this have to do with me?’

     ‘We’ve come to make a deal with you?’

     Realisation dawned on Seth and a smirk began to spread across his face. ‘I’m listening…’

     ‘While we’re in Eden, we’ll track down your brothers and bust them out of there too.’

     ‘You would do that?’ Seth asked skeptically.

     ‘So long as you agree to our terms,’ Punk warned him.

     ‘Let me guess,’ Seth grinned. ‘If you rescue my brothers, we have to forfeit the bounty on your head.’

     Punk nodded. ‘Not just mine but Colt’s, Luci’s and anybody else that we consider friends or allies. That means Finn too.’ He could see how much that information irked Seth. ‘You don’t lay a finger on any of us and then you leave. Go back to Illinois and New Chicago, go over to Mexico, I don’t care. Just stay the fuck away from us.’

     The bridge of Seth’s nose crinkled and he visibly bit his cheek as he tried to suppress his anger. Clearly he was enraged by these terms but he was also very tempted.

     ‘Before you give an answer,’ Punk warned him. ‘There’s more.’

     ‘Go on,’ Seth said, trying to contain his anger.

     ‘Obviously going into Eden is dangerous,’ Punk said. ‘We have no idea what security measures they have in place or how many people they have working for them. All we know is that escape will be close to impossible. To help us, we need somebody on the outside. Somebody that can sneak past their guards and hide unseen in the shadows.’

     ‘You really trust me enough to help you?’ Seth asked.

     ‘I trust that your loyalty to your brothers outweighs any impulse to betray us,’ Punk bit back. ‘But to be on the safe side, Luci will also be with you.’

     Seth shot a look at Luci who merely winked back.

     ‘You’re sticking me with my ex?’ Seth cringed.

     ‘Is that a problem?’ Punk asked, not amused.

     ‘We’ll soon find out,’ Seth muttered back.

     ‘So is that a yes?’ Punk queried, hopefully.

     ‘I’m tempted,’ Seth admitted. ‘Just give me some time to think on it.’

     ‘Fine,’ Punk said, gritting his teeth. Seth was playing one of his twisted games and Punk was sick of games. ‘I can wait.’ He sat down in the seat left vacated by the guard and motioned to everybody with a head nod. They each took the hint and left the room. Seth watched the scene with skepticism.

     ‘Uh… what’s happenin’?’ he queried.

     ‘Oh, did I not say?’ Punk leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. ‘I’m your guard for the next few hours.’

     ‘You?’ Seth said, with a patronising smirk.

     ‘Me,’ Punk shot him a wide smile. ‘We’re gonna have a lot of fun. Get to know one another.’

     Seth groaned. ‘Think I preferred the last guy,’ he muttered under his breath.

     ‘So how are you finding your accommodation?’ Punk asked. ‘Comfortable.’

     ‘It’s like staying at the Ritz,’ Seth said, his face plastered with a fake smile.

     ‘I see the bucket we gave you is empty,’ Punk noted, and he could see Seth’s eye twitch irritably. ‘You’ve been here, what, almost twelve hours?’

     ‘Fuck you,’ Seth forced out and Punk shrugged his shoulders.

     ‘Fuck, it’s hot in here,’ he said, fanning out his T-shirt. ‘You mind if I have some water?’

     ‘Knock yourself out,’ Seth grumbled. ‘Literally…’ he added under his breath.

     Punk brought out a bottle of water but instead of opening it he eyed it in his hands. Seth didn’t know the Chicago native well enough or else he would have seen the look in his eyes. The sparkle of mischief that always flashed when a plan was forming in his head.

    ‘You know,’ Punk said to Seth, ‘I was out all day yesterday fetching water from this reservoir a couple miles away.’

     ‘You want a medal or something?’ Seth mumbled.

     ‘And as I was travelling back with these two huge containers on my shoulders, all I could hear was…’ He sloshed the bottle back and forth, making the water inside bubble and froth. On hearing the noise, Seth felt something crawl deep inside him.

     ‘It was worth it though,’ Punk said, twisting the cap open. ‘When it’s hot as hell like it is in here, this is a thing of beauty.’ He took a deep glug from the bottle before an idea took hold and he poured some over his head and neck, rubbing the cooling liquid over his hair and skin with one of his tattooed hands. Finally, he looked up and back at Seth. He could see the discomfort in the prisoner and decided to up his plan a notch.

     He dangled the bottle in his hand, holding it out in front of him. His eyes locked onto Rollins and he gave him a cruel smirk. Softly, he turned the bottle on its side at an angle and watched as the water trickled out in a steady stream, splashing against the concrete floor with a wet splatter.

     ‘Just listen to that sound, huh?’ Punk grinned.

     ‘Oh my god, I wish you’d died in that fire like I’d planned,’ Seth muttered but Punk paid no heed.

     ‘Like a waterfall flowing into the middle of a great lake gushing out towards a vast sea that-‘

     ‘NO GODDAMIT NO, NO MORE!’ Seth bellowed out.

     ‘Something wrong?’ Punk asked innocently.

     ‘You win, ok, you fucking win,’ Seth hammered out quickly. ‘I agree to everything. I’ll help you escape Eden, we’ll leave this city and you’ll never see us again, I’ll lick your fucking boots for all I care. Just for the love of God, get me out of these cuffs and take me to a fucking bathroom!’

 

   Punk opened the door to the gym room, finding Colt, Finn and Cena waiting for him outside.

     ‘Well?’ Colt asked anxiously.

     ‘He’s agreed to our terms,’ Punk told them.

     ‘Already?’ Colt asked, mystified. ‘How did you-?’

     ‘Did you hurt him?’ Cena asked, solemnly.

     ‘Didn’t lay a hand on him,’ Punk said. ‘Oh, John-Boy, our new guest needs the little boys room. You think you can handle that?’

     ‘You do know I own this place, right?’ Cena growled, not happy at being usurped in authority by Punk.

     ‘Of course, that’s why you have to play host,’ Punk smiled back.

     Cena stood for a second, trying to find a comeback and when none came, he let out a long groan and grudgingly went inside the make-shift prison.

     ‘Will you two ever get along?’ Colt asked.

     ‘Probably not,’ Punk admitted. He looked over at Finn with narrowed eyes. Asking Colt to give them some privacy, Punk approached the Irishman.

     ‘Something wrong?’ Finn asked the Chicago native.

     ‘You haven’t given me an answer yet,’ Punk noted. ‘I thought you would jump at the chance of getting back at those scum bags who treated Bayley like dirt.’

     ‘I do, more than anything,’ Finn agreed. ‘However, it’s not that easy anymore.’

     ‘You have feelings for her?’

     ‘I made her a promise,’ Finn corrected him. ‘I vowed that I would always be here when she needs me. I can’t just go off and abandon her right after I told her that.’

     ‘So it’s a no, then?’

     Finn shook his head. ‘I just need some time to think.’

     ‘I see,’ Punk nodded in agreement. ‘You look dead on your feet. Go get some rest.’

     Finn complied and headed towards their room. Colt on seeing the meeting was over, came wandering back towards Punk.

     ‘Everything ok?’ he asked, cautiously.

     ‘I’m hungry, you hungry?’ Punk started off down the corridor towards the cafeteria with Colt in hot pursuit.

     ‘You think this idea of yours is really gonna work?’ Colt asked.

     ‘I honestly have no idea,’ Punk admitted. ‘It needs everybody to play their part. If even one piece breaks away the whole thing crumbles.’

     ‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ Colt sighed. ‘If Rollins turns on us or-‘

     ‘We just have to trust he won’t,’ Punk said.

     They reached the cafeteria and as they were about to head in, the door opened and Luci walked out. The trio froze in their tracks and the tension in the air was incredibly heavy. Colt could sense it too and with the memory of his talk with Luci the night before still fresh in his head, he quickly excused himself and walked through the doors into the cafeteria, leaving Punk and Luci alone.

     ‘You got a minute?’ Punk asked.

     ‘I’m on patrol in five so-‘ Luci started.

     ‘It’ll be quick,’ Punk assured her.

     ‘Fine,’ she relented. ‘Walk with me to the main door.’

     The pair began a slow walk towards the entrance to the gym, keeping a safe distance from one another.

     ‘I wanted to thank you for agreeing to do this,’ Punk said.

     ‘No problem,’ Luci replied stiffly.

     ‘I know this aint easy for you. I just wanted to check that you’re really ok with this.’

     ‘I’m a big girl. I can deal with Rollins.’

     ‘… that’s not what I meant.’ Punk caught Luci’s eye and they paused their steps, turning to face one another.

     ‘Punk, if you think that just because I have feelings for you that I would put another woman’s life in jeopardy then you don’t know me at all.’

     ‘I didn’t think that, I just-‘

     ‘I know that she’s the one you love. You travelled all of this way for her. I’m not gonna do anything to screw this up for you. I just… I just want you to be happy.’

     Punk wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He found himself stuck in one of those rare moments of his life where he was completely lost for words.

     ‘Look, I gotta go,’ Luci said.

     ‘Sure.’

     ‘Keep me posted about when we’re leaving, ok?’

     ‘Yeah.’

     ‘Cool.’

     She walked out through the main doors leaving Punk alone in the dark corridor. He sighed heavily and ran his hand through his slicked hair, scratching the back of his neck. He knew he was doing nothing wrong but every time he saw Luci, he somehow felt like the biggest jerk in the world.

     He walked back to the cafeteria and found Colt already seated at a table with a plate of food each for them. He took a seat beside his best friend and picked up his fork.

     ‘Everything go ok with Luci?’ Colt asked.

     Punk just grumbled and shoved his food around his plate.

     ‘I’ll take that as a no,’ Colt said.

     ‘I just feel like I’m hurting her all the time. Do you think there’s anything I can do or say to make things better?’

     ‘Nope,’ Colt replied honestly. ‘She’s just working through some stuff right now and needs some time alone.’

     ‘Sure,’ Punk uttered back and pushed his plate away.

 

     Punk’s terrible plan had been put into motion and over the next week, he and Colt spent all of their spare time between shifts preparing for it. They spoke to every former Eden resident – those who were willing to speak about their time there – gathering as much information as they could about the place and its occupants.

     The more he heard about Eden, the more Punk itched to head there as quickly as possible. He worried day and night for April’s safety and found it hard to settle. Here he was enjoying ample meals, a manageable workload and laughs with his fellow residents; all luxuries denied those at Eden. The pink bags under his eyes showed his lack of sleep as he sat up worrying about her. Most nights he now wandered through to the canteen where he often found Bayley and Finn deep in conversation.

     The pair now spent almost every waking moment together. They would work together in the garden during the day, take their meals together and even stay up at night together. Finn had practically become a voluntary insomniac, helping to comfort Bayley through her restless evenings. As soon as his services were required he never once hesitated to be by her side. As promised, Bayley never shied from him, opening up more and more about her struggles in her former prison. Each tale stabbed Finn through the chest, making it hard for him to breath, but he listened and he absorbed everything she said without showing any sign of weakness. She needed him to be strong and he readily complied.

     He was her rock but in more ways that one. While he stood firm and allowed her to cling to him when she became swept away, Finn had still not opened up in the slightest to her. It wasn’t that he was cold, far from it, but he tended to focus his conversations on happy times; his travels with his friends around Japan or his family back home in Ireland. Never once did he open up about anything that had happened to him since The Event.

     When Bayley found herself alone with Punk, she had asked him about this. ‘He’s a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. The closest I’ve ever got to the real Finn was when he was concussed.’ She understood what he meant. Finn didn’t wear a mask; he wore a myriad of them. If she spent a lifetime chipping away at his granite exterior she would only find a layer of marble underneath. But chip away she would, she wanted to find the real Finn, to understand his past and why he felt the need to be so guarded. She didn’t want to harass him but she felt it was the least she could do considering how much better she was feeling by opening up to him; she wanted to do the same for him.

     Finn wasn’t just being stoic to Bayley - he had still not giving Punk an answer on whether he was going to Eden or not. ‘Give the guy a break,’ Colt had told him, ‘he’s got a difficult choice to make.’ His words could not be more true. Every day, Finn felt the stress of conflict inside him; to accompany his closest friends, those who had sacrificed themselves to save him numerous times, and were now heading into the greatest danger they had encountered since the compound on the Floridian border, or to stay by the side of the woman who had endured so much hardship and pain but was now finally breaking through to the other side because of his help. For him, it was a lose-lose decision.

     ‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Bayley had asked him one day as he went over the problem in his head. They were both on pruning duty (Bayley preferred to work within the gym’s walls after her encounter with Seth) but Finn had been staring into the distance. ‘You’ve barely said a word all afternoon.’

    ‘Just thinking,’ Finn had replied simply, grabbing a small dried branch of the vine and snipping it back.

     ‘Thinking about what?’ Bayley cautiously pried.

     ‘It’s complicated.’

     ‘Are you thinking about Punk and Colt going to Eden?’ she asked all of a sudden and he let out a small laugh.

     ‘Are you reading my mind now?’

     ‘I wish,’ Bayley muttered. ‘No, Sasha told me about their plan. Are you going with them?’

     ‘I don’t know,’ Finn confessed. ‘I haven’t given them an answer yet.’

     ‘Because of me?’ she asked, pursing her lips.

     ‘No, it’s not that, it’s just…’ Finn faltered as he noted Bayley wasn’t biting. ‘I promised I would be here when you need me and I’m-‘

     ‘A man of your word,’ Bayley sighed, finishing his sentence off for him. ‘How would you feel, knowing they left for Eden without you?’

     ‘Scared for them. Guilty,’ Finn sighed. ‘The same things I’d feel if I left _with_ them.’ He looked at Bayley, a crease between his eyebrows. ‘What would you have me do?’

     _Stay. Stay with me_ , she was screaming in her head. _I can’t stand the thought of you being in that hell, suffering through what I went through. It would tear me apart._

     ‘I can’t make this decision for you, Finn,’ she told him with sadness in her voice. ‘You have to make the choice that’s right for you.’

     Later that evening, Finn stole himself away to the roof of the gym, seeking a quiet spot to reflect. The evening wind held a slight chill as it sidled through the fabric of his T-shirt. He pulled his leather jacket in tight around him and heaved a sigh, looking up into the vast, navy sky.

     ‘Everyone goes on about how they missed the sun,’ Finn spoke aloud to himself, ‘but I missed you lot the most.’ He smiled at the moon shining bright and full above him while stars cheekily glistened in the vastness surrounding it, trying to catch his eye. ‘It’s good seeing you all again.’ He hummed under his breath before pointing his finger up at the sky. ‘Polaris,’ he said, aiming his digit at the brightest star of the night, ‘Ursa Major – or the Plough as my Dad used to say…’ he paused for a brief moment before moving on. ‘Little Bear, Great Bear, Orion, Scorpius, Antares…’

     Memories came flooding back to him as he named each of the constellations above him. Dreams of a wide-eyed child first learning about the wonders of space, imagining a world far away from the beaches of Bray where he would experience marvels that no man had seen before. He remembered the first time he had gone to the science museum on a school trip. He was among the throng of children trying to clamber aboard the replica space shuttle but he was the only one to remain there, feeling like he would soon hear the engines roar and the cockpit shudder as it launched him to new horizons. Instead, he felt the teacher yank his arm and drag him away from freedom.

     He had grown up and although his dreams of being an astronaut had faded with the harshness of reality, his fascination was as keen as ever. To make up for his lost trip to the unknown, he packed up and left Ireland at the tender age of 18, seeking new adventures of his own. They made a suitable, if inferior, alternative and occupied his attention nicely. From Europe to Japan, he had indulged in new sights, new sounds, nuances of culture and cuisine. He had met people from every corner of the globe and found solace in their similarities while delighting in their differences. He had made friends for life, even though some he would never see again.

     He’d focused his attention on the United States next and remembered that old familiar sensation he got every time he arrived somewhere new, the electricity in his chest as the landing gear of the train found the hard surface of the runway with a bump.

     Then the rubble came crashing down on him.

     He shook the happy memories from his mind. They were from a lifetime ago and didn’t matter anymore. He crossed his arms over his chest, his fingers feeling the stitches knotting the sleeve of his jacket together - Colt’s handiwork - and he smiled wryly. Once again, he was forced to ponder his decision – to choose those who had kindly fixed his jacket, or the one he had torn it in defense of. Punk and Colt were heading out first thing in the morning and he still didn’t know if he would be at their side or not.

     ‘What would you do if you were me?’ he asked the moon. ‘Would you make the right decision? _Is_ there a right decision?’ He waited for an answer that would never come.

     ‘See, this is your problem,’ a voice sounded suddenly to his right. Finn was instantly up on his feet and began backing away from the source, his body filled with dread. ‘You’re asking a dead hunk of rock in the sky. Thing is, it aint gonna hear you.’ Seth Rollins grinned back at the Irishman as he stepped boldly onto the roof of the gym.

     ‘What do you want?’ Finn growled at the Shield member, his legs apart, ready to spring, his fingers curled into talons.

     ‘Relax, Sinead O’Connor,’ Rollins chuckled sarcastically at Finn, ‘I come in peace.’

     ‘I’m not buying it,’ Finn snarled.

     ‘Don’t care if you do or don’t. Honestly, I could tear you to pieces up here if I wanted to,’ he looked around him at the silence below, ‘nobody would even suspect a thing until it was too late.’ Finn fixed his glare on Rollins, anticipating any change in his movement. ‘But I really don’t want to anger my ex’s wrath. Plus, I’m beat and can’t be assed.’

     ‘How noble of you,’ Finn said, sarcastically and began to make his way towards the ladder when Seth’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

     ‘I’ve been watching you.’

     ‘Looking for your next opening?’ Finn launched back.

     ‘Yeah,’ Seth replied with a smirk. ‘Still can’t believe I let a cripple get the best of me.’

     ‘It helped that my opponent was so sloppy,’ Finn replied with a tight grin. ‘Maybe next time you should send one of your brothers instead. Give me a real challenge.’

     A spasm shot through Seth’s face, scrunching it up for a moment before it fell back into a smarmy grin again. ‘Cute,’ he mocked but Finn knew he had the victory in their war of words. He was more proficient with his speech than he was with his fists. He made to leave once more, when Seth butted in again.

     ‘I find it funny how you act all nice around her.’ Finn froze, his foot hovering over the first rung of the ladder.

     ‘Don’t you dare speak about her,’ Finn warned Seth, a frosty look in his eye.

     ‘Who?’ Seth stared back unflinching. ‘Bayley.’ He said her name slowly and deliberately, over pronouncing every syllable. Finn felt his grip falter on his anger. ‘Sweet girl. Troubled girl. To hear what’s she’s been through, it breaks my heart.’ Every word was dripping with faux sympathy. ‘Although I can’t help but think that it could have all been avoided if she just gave the guy what he wanted.’ Finn’s snarl fell from his face with shock. Had he truly heard those callous words fall from Seth’s lips? ‘A quick tumble under the sheets is all it would have taken. There’s nothing difficult about that, right? Makes me wonder why she was so against it. Maybe she’s never had a man between her thighs before. Makes sense, she’s giving out that sweet, innocent virgin vibes. Is that what you see in her, Irish? You want to pluck that juicy cherry? Thing is, she needs a real man on top of her, to show her how it’s really-‘

     A match lit up the gasoline of Finn’s temper. Before he could finish his sentence, Seth felt a squeezing around his neck as Finn’s claws crushed his jugular. Finn overpowered the Shield member, forcing him back at a rate of knots. Seth felt something solid hit his back and realised it was the small brick wall that ran the length of the roof. As his spine was almost bent double over the brickwork, a thought struck him that this miniscule structure was the only thing keeping him from plummeting to the hard ground several feet below. All Finn had to do was loosen his grip and Seth’s own momentum would take him over the edge. He was completely at the former Bullet Club leader’s mercy.

     ‘There he is,’ Seth choked out, his lips creasing into a satisfied grin. ‘There’s the real Devitt!’

     It was like a light came on, shining a spot on his crime and Finn’s anger evaporated into dread. He pulled Seth back from the edge and released his grip, revealing red welts around Rollins’ neck. The Shield member fell to his knees, gasping in air in between bouts of laughter. Finn stared down at his hands, frightened of the fury that he had unleashed with them and frantically questioning where all of that anger had abruptly come from.

     ‘I’m hurt that you don’t remember most of our fight,’ Seth wheezed, pulling Finn’s attention towards him, ‘especially the best part.’

     ‘What do you mean?’ Finn asked, afraid of the answer.

     ‘The part where you turned,’ Seth smirked, a growl caught deep in his throat. Finn felt the colour drain from his face. ‘She think of you as her hero, the man who saved her life, and yet, she doesn’t even know that in the last few moments of that battle, you didn’t give two shits about her.’

     ‘That’s not true!’ Finn yelled back. ‘I fought _for_ her.’

     ‘Only when you were in control of your senses,’ Seth corrected him. ‘After I hit you with the hammer, it’s like your humanity just switched off and something else took its place. All of a sudden, you didn’t care about the girl or her life, all you cared about was me and ripping me to shreds.’ Finn wished for some kind of retort to counter Seth’s claims but he came up empty. ‘You didn’t even see Bayley when she was right next to you, screaming at you that she was too close to the fight, begging you to move away.’ Finn’s heart fell into his boots. ‘She was right at your feet, your own blood raining down onto her face as she sobbed but you never looked her way once. You only saw me, you only heard your bloodlust and you only wanted one thing. To kill me.’

     ‘But I didn’t…’ Finn’s voice was weak.

     ‘You came close,’ Seth’s tone turned dark. ‘So close that my whole life flashed before my very eyes. You stamped on my chest and broke my collarbone, you watched me squirm on the ground, beaten and broken, and you didn’t care. You took a running leap and you aimed the soles of your feet directly at my skull and not once did I see any hint of guilt in your expression. You were set on killing me, right in front of the girl you claim to care for so much, even though she was shrieking at you to spare my life.’

     A drop of blood dripped down from Finn’s clenched fist as his fingernails raked the skin of his palm. ‘So why didn’t I finish the deed?’ he asked. He had to know.

     ‘It was Colt,’ Seth explained. ‘He told you to stop and you obeyed.’

     ‘Colt stopped me,’ Finn murmured to himself.

     ‘Don’t get any wrong ideas,’ Seth warned him. ‘You didn’t do it out of kindness or sympathy. You didn’t even do it because Colt’s arrival shook some sense into you. You were on autopilot, completely out of your own body, nothing more than an animal in human skin.’

     ‘So… why did I stop?’ Finn dared to query.

     ‘I don’t know, maybe it was a survival instinct. Alienate one of your only friends and you would be alone again, I dunno.’ To his horror, Finn found some truth in Rollins’ last sentence. ‘Look man, I’m only telling you what everyone else is too scared to say. You think yourself a changed man; that you’re on some kinda path of redemption and you might just find some forgiveness through her. Take it from the one and only person who’s like you in the whole of this hippie cesspit; the only guy who knows darkness like you do. Once a killer, always a killer. There’s no light at the end of the tunnel for you, only anger and hurt. It’s too late, the darkness has already claimed you as its own and it won’t ever let you go.’

     ‘I’ve changed,’ Finn refused to believe him. ‘I made a vow-‘

     ‘Fuck your vow. A vow doesn’t undo all the deaths you’ve caused. Does she even know about your past?’ Finn’s silence answered his question. ‘She loves you because she doesn’t know you. You really think she will look at you the same way when she finds out about all those lives you have taken? When she discovers what you really are? You are lying to her, man, you’re dragging her along in a fairytale that doesn’t even exist. What happens when she finds that the world you’ve built together is on the back of a trail of corpses. That the man she thought of as her selfless knight in shining armour is nothing more than a murderous piece of-‘

     ‘ENOUGH!’ Finn screamed. ‘I’m done playing mind games with you.’

     ‘It’s the truth and you know it!’

     ‘I said enough! You are nothing but a sad, pathetic excuse for a man and I’m done listening to your lies.’ Finn turned and mounted the ladder leading away from the roof.

     ‘Talk to her, Devitt,’ Seth yelled after him. ‘Tell her the truth!’

 

     Bayley spun around as the doors to the canteen opened and she smiled as Finn came shuffling in.

   ‘Did it help?’ she asked. ‘Having some time to think?’

     ‘It did,’ he said as he sat in the chair opposite her.

     ‘And?’ she pried. ‘Did you decide?’

     ‘Yes,’ he responded, flatly.

     She studied him, noting how his posture turned cold and stiff, how shadows encased those radiant eyes, how his soft, pink lips were now pursed tightly. ‘Is something wrong? Did something happen to you?’

     ‘Bayley,’ Finn said and she put down her carving tools to focus on him properly, ‘you asked me to make you a promise that I would not hide from you. Well, up until now, I have done nothing _but_ hide from you and it’s not fair to you. Not after everything that you’ve told me. You want me to open up… and I will.’

     ‘Finn…’ she sighed. ‘You only have to do this if you want.’

     ‘No,’ he replied, ‘this is not about what I want. It’s about what’s right.’ He paused as he licked his dried lips. ‘I’m not the man you think I am.’

     ‘I don’t believe that,’ she argued. ‘I know you better than you give me credit for. You’re kind and shy, you love playing with Lego and laughing with friends. You talks about climbing the mountains back home in Bray and being dazzled by the lights of Tokyo.’

     ‘You know Finn Bálor,’ he corrected her. ‘You look at me and you see only this,’ he indicated his frame from head to toe, ‘but _this_ is the real me.’ He reached into his pocket and opened something out across the tabletop. As he pushed it towards her, she looked over at the article and her eyebrows knotted in confusion.

     ‘I don’t understand,’ she said as she spied the bandana laced with a demonic mouth, dripping with sharpened teeth and a long, hungry tongue.

     ‘This is my real face,’ he said. She examined the unsettling artifact with scrutiny, searching each dagger-like fang for answers that refused to reveal themselves. ‘My real name is Fergal Devitt,’ he told her and she looked up at him with wide eyes.

     ‘Fergal?’ she said, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. ‘I like that.’

     ‘And my surname?’ he asked her. ‘Does it mean anything to you?’

     ‘Should it?’

     ‘I really don’t deserve you, Bayley,’ he sighed under his breath.

     ‘What do you mean?’ she queried, growing more and more confused.

     ‘I want to tell you something that nobody else knows,’ he said, his voice growing small and dark. ‘Something I’ve carried around with me for so long, something I’ve been so afraid to share with anybody.’

     ‘I’m here,’ she said and reached over to grab his hand. It was as cold as ice. ‘I’m listening.’

     He took a few moments to gather his thoughts before beginning his tale. ‘When I first came here to the States, I stayed with an old friend of mine called Connor. We’d known each other since we were kids and had kept in touch even after I left home. He’d moved to Boston a year before and was working as an engineer. He was actually the one to encourage me to come to the States. I was starting to overstay my welcome in Japan and this seemed like the perfect opportunity for a fresh start. He said he could get me a small job to build up some savings so that I could travel and see the rest of the country. I liked the idea so I hopped on a plane and fourteen hours later I took my first steps on American soil.

     ‘Walking into Boston was a strange experience for me. The Irish heritage there is so engrained in the city it was almost like being back home again, different but strangely familiar. A far cry from Japan. For the first time in years, people could actually understand me again (and not just because I was speaking English) and I could go to the local pub and drink a pint of Guinness wit’ my mates. It felt… good.

     ‘But I knew it was a temporary stop, a few months at most. I came to soak in different cultures, not the same one I could get back home. So I started my temp job, working in the mailroom of Connor’s company building, scrimping and saving every penny I could and looking forward to the day I could shed my shackles and be back on the open road once more.

     ‘One stunning day in June when the sun was out in full and the streets were bustling with people out enjoying the weather, I got to put on my short sleeved shirt and head into work. It was a day just like any other, I sorted the mail in morning, was handed a freshly brewed coffee from my fellow mailroom guy, Logan – who’s coffee always tasted like paint stripper and was more of a solid than liquid – then headed upstairs with my trolley to do my rounds. There was nothing special about that day, nothing that even hinted at being out of the ordinary, nothing that was strange or unusual… until the fire started falling from the sky.’

     Bayley gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

     ‘Oh my God,’ she exclaimed. ‘I can’t be… you didn’t…’

     ‘I’ve never met anybody else who witnessed The Event firsthand,’ Finn continued, his voice little more than a soft growl. ‘Even those who did see the flames were far enough from the city to safely watch it from a distance. Nobody I’ve encountered can ever say ‘I was there, right in the thick of it, when it happened. I felt the heat of the fire, the ground rumbling beneath me like an earthquake, felt the stench of the smoke choking my lungs’. Either that’s because anybody unfortunate enough to be that close to the devastation perished that day, or, like me, is haunted by what they saw every waking moment and can’t bear to relive it. Like me, they keep it hidden deep inside them, locking it tightly away, but it’s like storing poison in a leaky vial – it begins to seep out and spreads, killing you slowly from the inside.’

     ‘Finn,’ Bayley choked and squeezed his hand tighter, trying to push her strength through to him.

     ‘I was on the fifth floor of the building,’ Finn remembered, his eyes glazed as he unleashed the memory from its cage. ‘I’d stopped to chat to Connor before he headed into a meeting. We heard an almighty boom, and the whole building shook around us. We froze at first, completely at a loss for what had just happened. We were next to the lifts, the one area of the building with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the entirety of the town. The perfect place to witness the entire sky turn black. The sun was swallowed by the clouds and the world went dark. We stood by the windows, our hearts pounding in our chests as a scene from some disaster movie played out right before us. The whole of the city went silent as every single person, man, woman and child, held their breath. The calm before the storm.

     ‘The first fireball fell, a burning streak as blinding as the sun itself, landed in the docks and even though it was several miles from us, we saw the explosion burst high into the sky and even feel the heat scalding our skin. The panic finally struck and the sounds of screams filled the air. While everybody in the building began to scrabble and claw to escape, I stood there transfixed, watching as more and more fireballs rained down from the sky.

   ‘Instinct kicked in at last and I grabbed Connor’s arm and yelled at him to move. We bolted for the stairs, becoming entangled in the mass of workers escaping the building. We like to think of ourselves as evolved creatures, who put others first even in times of great danger but that’s a load of bullshit. When panic sets in, it’s all about self-preservation and everybody trapped in that stairwell had only one thought – that their lives were more important than the rest and they needed to get out, even at the expense of others. I saw intelligent, educated people throw themselves over the railings, trying to jump to the ground floor, I watched men punching women in the face to get them out of their way, others pushing their own colleagues to the ground and trampling over them to get past.

     ‘A stampede went hurtling before us and as bodies fell to the floor and died under the weight of their fellow man, a jam occurred and we all became blocked in. We were all packed in so tight, I felt the air in my lungs being squeezed out of me from the pressue. In that small, claustrophobic space, I’ll never forget the wails of the dying and desperate, screeching in vain, asking for their friends to move and give them room when they too were begging for the exact same thing.

     ‘The air around me began to slacken and I noticed my fortunate position, right next to a window leading to a flat roof outside. Someone had managed to smash the glass and escapees began to pour out to freedom. I headed straight for the gap, dragging Connor with me as we went. Soon I could gasp fresh air, and feel no tension around my body. By this time, the fire had engulfed most of the city and the heat was incredible. I had only been out in the open for seconds when the sweat began pouring down my face. Connor slipped and fell, I pulled him to his feet. We followed the flow of the crowd towards the edge of the roof, hoping the drop would be manageable for us to jump.

     ‘I remember stopping for only a second to glance around me. I sweltered with the heat, choked from the flames and found the entire horizon a spinning aura of red and orange and I remember thinking that this was it, the end of the world. Even if we could get down from the roof, where could we run to? Even the sea itself was on fire!

     ‘Sense kicked back into gear as we heard a sound that still causes my stomach to lurch. A deep groan, creaking right beneath out feet. The pressure of the mass on the roof was too much for the structure and with a final shriek, the ground caved in below us. We fell, I lost my grasp on Connor and pain wracked every one of my senses. I blacked out but only for a few seconds. I woke up, coughing as dust blocked up my nose and throat. My arm was free and I wiped what I could from my face. When I tried to move my other arm, it refused to budge. I tried to lift my head was it was pinned to the floor. One leg could move but only just, the other had gone completely numb. Panic doesn’t even come close to what I felt in that moment. Fear is an understatement. I don’t think there ever will be a word to describe that raw sensation I felt. The only people who could understand are those who experienced those final moments before they drown or see the spark of the gun as the bullet is fired at their head. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t run so all I did was scream.

     ‘I saw movement beside me and felt such relief to see Connor walk free from the wreckage. He heard my screams and he found me. ‘You’re trapped,’ he told me. You would think that should have been obvious to me, but the panic was so intense that I hadn’t even registered that’s why I couldn’t move. ‘Help me,’ I begged him. ‘Get me out.’ He tried to lift the beam off my back but it wouldn’t shift. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I can’t do it.’ ‘Please,’ I begged him. I pleaded and wept but he kept telling me sorry. ‘Don’t leave me here,’ I yelled as he turned to run. He paused, he turned back and he bent down towards me. The last time I ever shed a tear was when I felt my childhood friend, the guy I met on our first day at school, who I used to skip classes with, who I shared my first pint with and told about my first time with a girl, the man who I believe would always have my back-‘ Finn choked, composed himself and continued, ‘- I felt that bastard emptying my pockets.’

     ‘Oh, Finn!’ Bayley exclaimed as the tears began to fall from her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry.’

     ‘Don’t be. _He_ certainly wasn’t,’ Finn said with bitterness in his voice.

     ‘How did you escape?’ Bayley asked, placing her other hand over his now and clenching it tightly.

     ‘I would love to tell you that it was the brave act of rescue workers, or even some selfless coworkers of mine, Logan maybe, who came to my aid and pulled me free, but…’ he trailed off and started again. ‘I just remember lying there, thinking over and over that this was it. I’m going to die. But I wasn’t scared or worried about my family back home… I was angry. So fucking angry! I was furious because I was going to die and Connor was going to live. He didn’t deserve to survive after all I had done to try and save him, not only did he leave me behind but to add insult to fucking injury, he had fucking robbed me as well. I felt nothing but hatred and fury and all I wanted was one more chance, just one more chance to get my revenge on the bastard.

     ‘And like that, the ground around me shook and the weight on my back was gone. I managed to get my hands beneath my body and pushed myself up, feeling the bricks and slates falling off of me as I stood as if I were shedding my old skin.

     ‘I got to my feet and began to walk. My legs were slower than normal. I rubbed some life back into them and began to walk once more.

     ‘The sky was still. The last of the fireballs had fallen and the city was burning yet everything had gone calm. The screaming had silenced and the last of the survivors had fallen or ran to freedom. Smoke clogged the sky and the soot hung in the air like a silk curtain. I passed by the ruins of buildings, skeletons of homes and businesses, turning blacker by the second as the flames took hold. I kept my eyes up, never once daring to look down. One downward glance would reveal the true price of the devastation; the bodies of men, woman and children at my feet. They were everywhere, like leaves on the lawn at the end of Autumn. Couples frozen as they clung to one another, parents shielding children who’s faces were frozen in panic, police officers who died bravely trying to direct others to safety, fire fighters who perished trying to tackle the immense flames, off-duty doctors who ran to treat injured strangers in the street. I tried not to look… but I failed miserably.’

     ‘I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through,’ Bayley stammered but Finn was not finished.

     ‘I found him,’ he stated. ‘Just as I suspected, he hadn’t gone far. He had already broken the taboo of picking his own dying friend’s pockets, why resist now when there was such ample opportunity lying around him, ripe for the taking. I stood as still as the night, watching as he scrabbled from corpse to corpse, pillaging from those who could not fight back, hovering over their bodies like a vulture picking the bones clean. I watched him and every last drop of sympathy I had for the man drained from my body.

     ‘He never heard me come up behind him. He never felt my presence at his back. He only felt my hands on him for a split second before I snapped his neck.’

     Bayley started and removed her hands from Finn’s. ‘You… you killed him?’

     ‘They say you never forget your first kill,’ Finn said, his eyes staring straight at the demonic bandana before him. ‘I still remember each detail of that moment. I can still hear the crunch playing over and over again in my head. Those who came after him? They’re details are sketchy. I forget their names, their faces… but my first will stick with me forever.’

     ‘Wait, what do you mean those who came after?’ Bayley interrupted him.

     ‘The other people I have killed,’ Finn said and he bowed his head, averting his gaze from her. ‘I promised I would never lie to you and I meant it,’ Finn said, his voice strong and steady as he picked up the fabric from the table. ‘This is my real face,’ he said and she watched as he lifted the bandana up and placed it over his nose and lower face. He finally looked up and locked onto her eyes and she started on seeing a completely different man before her. The demon’s mouth appeared to be his own, large and disfigured, starving and willing to consume everything around him, his blue eyes were now as cold as shards of ice and pierced into her like daggers, chilling her from head to foot.

     ‘Finn, you’re scaring me,’ Bayley shivered.

     ‘I should,’ Finn’s speech was slightly muffled by the fabric around his mouth. ‘I’m a monster.’

     ‘I don’t believe that,’ Bayley refused to listen.

     ‘It’s not a matter of belief; it’s the truth. My name is not Finn Bálor, it never was and it never will be. I am Prince Devitt, founding member and first leader of the Bullet Club. I have seen more men die than I can count, most of them at my own hand. My name instills fear in those who hear it, my reputation haunts those who know of it and my legacy is soaked with blood.’

     Finn lowered his head once more. There, he had done it, he had finally told her the truth, the whole truth, in fact, he had shared more with her than he had with anybody else since the tragic events of June 2011. She had asked him to be open with her and he had obliged, knowing full well that it would scare her off. The one person he wanted to hold close to him and he had no choice but to drive her away. He knew he was breaking her heart and it killed him inside but he had to do it; it was the right thing. Now, he had to sit and patiently await her reaction. He had to see it through to the end.

     ‘…I know.’

     Finn’s eyes widened. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. His head shot up and he stared in disbelief at the young woman before him. She sat opposite him, her demeanour calm and strong, a small smile on her face but sympathy glowing in her eyes.

     ‘I’ve known who you were from the beginning.’

     ‘You… you did, but how?’

     ‘Even down here, we’d heard of the Bullet Club and its fearsome leader, Prince Devitt, an Irishman with piercing blue eyes who’d sold his soul to the Devil. Some of the guys at Eden had even been unlucky enough to run into you and your gang as they made their way through Georgia. When they spoke of you, I used to wonder what kind of man would instill such horror in people yet would escort travellers safely through his land. For someone so brutal and unflinching, there was a glimpse of honour there… of kindness.’

     ‘But how did you know that man was me?’ Finn asked her.

     ‘It all made sense,’ she shrugged. ‘An Irishman that Punk and Colt had picked up in Georgia, those eyes you can’t tear yourself away from,’ she smiled at him briefly, ‘the sadness in your features, the way you’re body stooped as if you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. I could tell instantly that this was a man who had seen and done the most horrendous things imaginable.’ Finn lowered his head. ‘But I saw something else,’ she said and he looked up at her again once more. ‘I saw how much you wanted to change. To be a better person.’

     ‘I tried, I really tried…’ Finn sighed. ‘I just can’t see how, after everything I’ve done.‘

     ‘Finn, this is not your real face,’ Bayley said and she reached out her arms to him. He bowed his head and allowed her to remove the bandana from around his lower face. ‘This is a mask. You witnessed a horrific tragedy and your best friend betrayed you in the worst possible way. You were scared when you needed to be brave, you felt weak when needed to be strong, you had reached out to help others only to have it thrown in your face so you felt that you needed to be ruthless and fierce. From all of this you invented Prince Devitt.’

     ‘But what if you’re wrong,’ Finn queried her. ‘What if that’s who I really am? That I tapped into something inside of me that’s dark and nasty.’

     ‘We all have our dark sides,’ Bayley replied, ‘and in times of need, we can use that side of us in order to survive. Only the weakest among us allow that darkness to consume them and take control.’

     ‘Like I did,’ Finn lamented.

     ‘No,’ Bayley smiled at him. ‘You made the choice to change. You decided you didn’t need the darkness anymore.’ She could see that he was unconvinced so she elaborated. ‘Finn Bálor is a mask too. Even with Punk and Colt, who you trust more than anyone else, you still feel the need to hide from them. But, at least, Finn is closer to who you really are - to Fergal. He doesn’t need to rely on violence, he doesn’t need to be headstrong, he can show compassion, he can share his flaws, he can even be weak because he can depend on his friends for support. He can be a goof at times, he can be a geek, he can be a little over-confident when it comes to his looks (just saying),’ she grinned softly, ‘but he can also be brave, selfless and kind. _That’s_ who you really are, Finn… not this.’ She held the bandana out in her hand.

     ‘Bayley, I don’t know what to say,’ Finn shook his head, finding himself at a complete loss. ‘Thank you.’

     ‘You have never shirked from me when I shared my inner thoughts and feeling with you,’ she beamed at him. ‘And I promised not to do the same.’

     ‘Bayley,’ Finn’s face fell again as he heaved a sigh, ‘I told Punk I would go to Eden with them.’

     ‘Of course you did,’ she said with a proud smile on her face, ‘because it’s the right thing to do. I couldn’t ask you to stay here with me, even though all I want in the whole wide world is for you to be safe.’

     ‘I made a promise to you,’ Finn noted. ‘I said that I would always be by your side when you need me.’

     ‘And you will keep it,’ Bayley replied. ‘I don’t need you right now, Punk and Colt do. But you have to stick to your promise and once this mission is over, you will come back here in one piece. You got that?’

     ‘Got it,’ Finn smiled.

     ‘Promise me!’

     ‘I promise I will come back.’

     ‘Good, that’s all I needed to hear. Now, it’s getting late and you’re heading off first thing in the morning. You better go get some rest.’

     ‘You too,’ Finn told her.

     ‘Ok,’ she said, rolling her eyes and the pair of them stood up and made their way to the doors of the canteen. Before they exited the room though, Bayley tugged on Finn’s shirt and he paused to look at her. ‘Thank you by the way, for sharing with me.’

     ‘Thank you for listening,’ Finn replied as he bent down to place a kiss on the crown of Bayley’s head.

    


	39. Welcome to Eden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just like that, we're into our final and largest arc - I can't believe it! Expect the usual plethora of twists and turns and a whole bunch of drama; things are never easy for our boys!
> 
> (Some insider information for you; this arc took me aaaages to write. Three or four times, I rewrote it completely and in the end had to cut a bunch of storylines and characters in order to make it more streamlined. What's in store for Punk, Colt, Finn and, of course, April? Well, let's find out!)

     Time is cruel, unforgiving and, as the saying goes, waits for no man. Our three heroes could have stayed in the small camp of Nocks, tilling the fresh earth, smelling the wonders of the garden and laughing among friends forever, but deep down each one knew it was a stopgap. They had travelled all of this way for a purpose and could no longer ignore their mission. As each one gathered outside the main door of the gym, heavy packs slung over their shoulders and dressed in their old attire, it was as if their time in the burgeoning community had been a dream and they were soon to awake to their brutal reality once more.

     As they and the few people who had gathered to see them off waited, each man was lost in their own thoughts. Colt was thinking of the future. After all of this was over, what happens next? Would Punk need him as much once he had April by his side? Would he accept Punk’s offer and travel with them to Mexico or beyond? Or did he even want that now? He had engrossed himself in the community at Nocks and he felt as if he could make a real difference in the newfound society. Would Punk be mad if Colt chose to stay in Tampa or would he give him his blessing? Did he have the strength to finally cut ties with his best friend, possibly for good?

     Finn stood aside from the others, staring ahead into the distance, his stance tense and his expression impossible to read. His demon-mawed bandana, which he had never felt the need to wear during his time at Nocks, was now hung around his neck like an old familiar noose.

     Punk’s mind was focused on the present. A believer in the philosophy that if you visualize your actions over and over it’s bound to come true, he planned the operation on repeat in his head. No matter the scenario he walked into Eden, he found April and he left with her. Sometimes he had to fight his way out, sometimes he managed to sneak everyone out undetected but each time they were free to start the rest of their lives together. He ignored that little niggle at the back of his head, the one trying to shatter his confidence. What if she’s not there? What if she was never there? What if she’s gone? He batted the doubts back. There was a feeling in his gut about this and that feeling was seldom wrong. She was there and he would find her.

     _That’s all well and good but what if, after all of this struggle, all of this pain, exhaustion and misery, she turns around and decides_ she _doesn’t want_ you _._

‘The present,’ he muttered to himself, ‘focus on the present.’

     At last, Luci arrived with Seth Rollins trailing moodily behind her. ‘You ready?’ Luci asked the group as she reached them. Her long, wavy hair was tied back in a ponytail and she wore her trusty denim jacket. Her face was set in a determined expression making her hard to read as always.

     ‘We’re ready,’ Punk replied.

     ‘Good luck,’ Sasha said, taking Punk’s hand and shaking it firmly. ‘Remember, keep your head down and don’t ruffle any feathers. Speed is key. Find April and get back here as soon as you can.’

     ‘Noted,’ Punk replied. ‘We can’t thank you enough for your hospitality and-‘

     ‘You sound like you’re saying good-bye,’ Sasha interrupted him. ‘This isn’t good-bye. We’ll see you in a few days, max. Ok?’

     ‘Ok,’ Punk smiled. Sasha moved onto Colt next and Cena approached Punk with his hand out. The pair would probably never see eye-to-eye but there was a grudging respect for one another born out of the past weeks or so. Punk accepted Cena’s gesture and shook his hand.

     ‘All the best,’ Cena said in a serious voice. ‘I know you’ll find her.’

     ‘Thanks,’ Punk said back.

     ‘And remember, you can’t mention anything about us or Nocks while you’re in there. If they know we’re here, they’ll-‘

     ‘That goes without saying,’ Punk assured him. ‘We’d never say or do anything to put you or your people in danger.’

     ‘I know and I appreciate that.’ Cena looked between Punk and his companions. ‘You’re good guys,’ he said finally. ‘If any of you wish to stay with us after this is all over, you would be more than welcome.’

     ‘We’ll bear that in mind,’ Punk answered. ‘Alright, let’s move out.’

     The group all turned and started to make their way towards the main gates. Colt paused and looked around.

     ‘Isn’t Bayley coming to see us off?’ he asked Finn.

     ‘We said our goodbyes last night,’ Finn told him with a weak smile. He noted the look Colt gave him and shook his head incredulously. ‘And that’s not a euphemism or innuendo. Like I keep telling you – Bayley and I are friends.’

     ‘Then why do you look like a convict on his way to the gallows?’ Colt asked him.

     ‘Feelings don’t need to be romantic to be strong – look at you and Punk.’

     ‘Fair enough.’ Colt eyed the younger man. ‘You know you don’t have to come with us.’

     ‘I do – and I want to. Once this part is over, it’ll get easier.’

   Colt looked on sadly as Finn lowered his head and began walking purposefully away from the camp they had called home for a while and towards their unknown future.

     ‘Why so glum, Irish,’ a sneering voice sounded beside Finn. He kept his eyes ahead. ‘Leaving your girl behind, huh? Don’t worry, while you’re inside, I’m sure I can sneak back every so often and keep her company at night-‘

     ‘Get away from me before I break every bone in your body,’ Finn growled.

     ‘For fuck’s sake Seth, get over here,’ Luci roared from the front and Seth walked away from Finn with a snide cackle.

     The five figures walked though the main gates of Nocks and just as they began to hear the large metal doors creak on their rusty hinges, a voice cut through the stillness of the dawn. They all turned around to see a figure running towards them.

     ‘Wait!’ Bayley cried out, running to catch up with the party.

     ‘Bayls?’ Finn shot her a confused look. ‘I thought we decided to-‘

     ‘I know but I wanted to wish everyone goodbye,’ Bayley told him. ‘I’m sorry I’m late.’ She hugged Luci tightly and gave Seth a wide berth before latching onto Colt. As she wrapped her arms around Punk’s neck, she whispered into his ear. ‘Take care of him for me.’ Punk nodded silently back.

     Finally, she gingerly approached Finn who, despite his best efforts, couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

     ‘Finn,’ she said, coming to stand in front of him. ‘I have something for you.’ She reached down and gently grabbed his hand, bringing it up in front of them. She placed something small and solid onto his palm before closing his fingers around it, hiding the object from view. ‘Just a parting gift,’ she said, ‘to help you remember your promise.’

     ‘Thank you Bayls,’ he smiled at her. They threw their arms around each other and embraced tightly. She heard a small voice in her head, sounding a lot like a certain curmudgeonly Chicagoan and decided to heed it, grabbing Finn gently by his bearded cheeks and pulling his lips onto her. At first, Finn felt tense, not sure if this would backfire on him the way it had before but Bayley didn’t falter, didn’t cringe and slowly he softened into the embrace, feeling the sweetness of her lips on his, feeling them part to deepen the kiss further.

     ‘Hate to break up the moment but we gotta get movin’,’ Luci butted in and Bayley hopped back from Finn, the taste of him tingling her tongue. _Longer_ , she cried to herself, _I wanted longer._ She smiled broadly at him as the tears fell from her eyes. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

     Finn could only nod his reply and watched as she turned and headed back inside the camp, a sense of guilt welling up inside him, as, with one last wail, the gates to Knocks closed and were locked tight. It was only once they had walked for some time that Finn felt strong enough to open his fingers and spy the gift Bayley had given him. The breath left his lungs and he couldn’t help the corners of his mouth curling as he admired his likeness, carefully carved into a tiny piece of wood and lovingly painted to recreate his features. There was so much care and attention to detail that Bayley’s sentiments shone through like the beams of the moon during a dark, Winter’s night. He placed the gift in his pocket and only then, did he turn back to glance over his shoulder. There was no sign of the camp; Nocks had disappeared into the concrete jungle.

     ‘Is it just me or is it really quiet on this side of the city. Like, _really_ quiet.’

     The three men made their way through the empty streets, shades of déjà vu reminding them of their first time entering the sun-lit city by the sea.

     ‘I don’t know,’ Punk replied, looking about their surroundings, ‘I think it’s all in your head, Colt.’

     ‘No, I feel it too,’ Finn chimed in. ‘There’s no birds singing, hardly any wind. It’s strange.’

     After leaving Nocks, the small band had followed the route Punk and his companions had taken almost a month before and left the city limits of Tampa. The last thing they wanted was to draw attention to Nocks so instead of merely walking across town into Eden territory they had decided to exit Tampa, circle around it and enter from the west side, throwing them off the scent of the small community altogether.

     ‘Are Luci and Seth still with us?’ Punk asked the Irishman.

     ‘They’re nearby,’ Finn told him. His instincts had dampened from his time away from the wilderness but it was slowly coming back to him. He could just make out Luci scouting on ahead but almost all of his energy was focused on Seth Rollins watching them from the shadows. It felt like some large wild animal was lurking in the undergrowth and all that was visible was a glowing pair of cold eyes.

     ‘And you’ll let us know the moment you sense someone’s approaching us?’ Punk reminded the younger man.

     ‘Yes,’ Finn answered tensely.

     ‘I’m serious though, it’s really, _really_ quiet,’ Colt stammered. ‘I’m telling you, it’s not natural.’ The further they went into city, the more he felt as if they were delving deeper into the belly of the beast. The buildings around him became the walls of the monster’s stomach and they were closing in, contracting in order to crush its prey.

     He felt a warm hand clasp his shoulder. ‘We’re all scared, buddy,’ Punk reassured his friend. ‘But we’re all gonna be fine. We can do this.’

     ‘Heads up,’ Finn cautioned with a low growl in his throat.

     ‘Already?’ Colt blurted out. Punk tightened his grip on Colt’s shoulder.

     ‘I need you to stay calm, Colt,’ Punk told him gently. ‘I need you to be strong.’

     Colt practiced the breathing exercise that Sasha had taught him in order to quell the panic down. Since facing his biggest fear and punching Seth Rollins in the jaw in the aftermath of his fight with Finn, Colt’s anxiety had started to die down and he was gaining more and more control of it every day. ‘I’ve got this,’ he said. ‘I’m ready.’

     Finn’s warning rang true and they only managed to walk on for a few more feet before the figures began to emerge around them. Dressed from head to toe in black riot gear, bulking helmets with visors covering their face, the figures appeared phantom-like as all four of them circled their prey. Punk and his companions stopped in their tracks and turned their backs to one another to focus on the intruders penning them in like sheep. Finn eyed each of the masked strangers.

     ‘They’re armed,’ he muttered to Punk, noting the heavy police batons they held in their hands.

     ‘I see that,’ Punk said back. ‘Put the talons away, kid. I need you to look weak and pathetic for now, ok? Gain some sympathy with these guys.’

     Finn complied and placed his arm around Punk’s shoulders, placing more weight than normal onto his good leg to emphasise the brace strapped around his shin and knee. His other hand cupped his torso to bring attention to his broken ribs. It went against every rule of combat he knew to highlight his weaknesses.

     ‘Afternoon, gentlemen,’ Punk said aloud to the four armour-clad men before them. ‘Beautiful day, huh?’

     The strangers stood still, brandishing their weapons threateningly, solid and taciturn like great stone gargoyles.

     ‘I don’t think they’re up for talking, Punk,’ Colt muttered out of the side of his mouth.

     ‘Keep your cool, Colt,’ Punk warned Colt with a hiss. He addressed their audience again. ‘Look, we’re not looking for trouble. We just need a place to rest for the night and then we’ll be out of your hair.’

     The figures stood still, seemingly unmoved by their story. Punk began to feel as if this wasn’t such a good idea after all and was about to speak again when all of a sudden, one of the figures reached up and removed his helmet.

     ‘Well then, we might just be able to help you with that,’ the man replied as he revealed himself. He appeared to be in his forties with a stocky build and round face. His hair was closely cropped and a grey goatee lined his face. He smiled with a crooked yet not entirely unfriendly grin. ‘We’re famous for our hospitality around these parts.’

     The man spoke with a Georgian accent, which made Finn bristle sharply.

     ‘Easy,’ Punk cooed the Irishman.

     ‘Have you boys travelled far?’ the man asked.

     ‘From Chicago,’ Punk replied.

     ‘Chicago?’ the man gaped. ‘Now that _is_ something. Last I heard, Chicago was a burning wreckage?’

     This time it was Punk who bristled. ‘You heard right,’ he said, simply.

     ‘Now, that gets me to wonderin’, why you boys have travelled all of this way from Chicago, Illinois?’

     ‘We were on our way to Mexico when we heard rumours of a safe haven in Tampa,’ Punk told the stranger. ‘We decided to check it out for ourselves.’

     The man leered deeply into Punk’s eyes and his smile grew more lopsided. ‘A safe haven, huh? Interesting.’ It was then that the man turned his attention to Finn. He cocked his head to the side slightly and took in the Irishman’s stance. ‘And what happened to your friend?’

     ‘We were ambushed by these hillbilly freaks a few miles back,’ Punk explained. ‘We barely got away with our lives.’

     ‘And your buddy here got the worst of it, I see?’ the man continued to eye Finn.

     ‘You should’ve seen the other guys,’ Finn chimed in. The man looked up into Finn’s eyes and his smile widened.

     ‘Tough guy, huh?’ the man smirked. ‘Let me tell you, boy, you were lucky to escape with your life. We know all about those men and they don’t treat travellers as nicely as we do.’

     ‘We found that out the hard way,’ Punk took over once again. ‘Anyway, it’s been nice talking and all but can we continue on our way?’

     ‘Easy there, friend,’ the stranger interjected. ‘Let’s not rush off all hasty now. Let me make you an offer. What if I told you that safe haven you were speaking about was real…’

     ‘You know where it is?’ Punk asked.

     ‘I might,’ the stranger said with a mysterious air, ‘and say I was willing to take you back there. We’ll give you a warm bed, fresh clothes, food, water, anything you want. We’ll even give your friend here some medical attention. How does that sound to you?’

     ‘Sounds good,’ Punk admitted, ‘too good. What’s the catch?’

     ‘No catch,’ the man said, raising his hands up defensively. ‘You seem like good guys. You said it yourself you’re not lookin’ for trouble. We just want to offer our help.’

     ‘Can I have a moment to talk it over with my friends?’ Punk asked.

     ‘Take your time,’ the man complied and stepped back to give the trio some room. Punk, Colt and Finn bundled close and began to discuss the offer. It was all for show, they couldn’t appear too keen or else the strange men might catch onto their true intentions. After some debate, Punk finally turned around to face the unmasked man once more.

     ‘We’ll go with you,’ he declared.

     ‘Excellent,’ the man smiled. ‘It’s about a forty minute walk from here. Do you think your friend can manage?’

     ‘I’ll be fine,’ Finn said stiffly.

     ‘Good boy,’ the man said and winked at Finn. ‘Where are my manners by the way? I haven’t even introduced myself yet. The name’s Jesse James.’ He extended his hand out to Punk who shook it. ‘And you are?’

     ‘I’m Punk, this is Colt and Finn.’

     ‘None of y’all have last names, huh?’ the man taunted. He looked over to his men. ‘Hey fellas, come on, we’re all friends here. Show your faces, huh?’ Each of the armour-clad men removed their helmets. ‘So this here is my main man, Billy Gun,’ he said motioning to a man of the same age as Jesse with thinning blonde hair. ‘This is X-Pac, he don’t have no last name neither,’ he pointed out a man with a bandana wrapped around his head. ‘And the big guy over there is Kevin Nash.’ Big guy was right! The man towered over all three of Punk’s party, measuring almost seven feet tall. He looked to be the oldest of the four with Punk estimating that he was in his fifties.

     ‘Pleasure to meet ya,’ Punk nodded to each man in turn. ‘So, this is nice and all but you mentioned something about food-‘

     ‘All in good time, my friend, all in good time. Let’s head out.’

    

     The party wandered further into the city together but even though their newfound companions had de-masked and were acting friendly enough, the tension among the three travellers was palpable. They collectively knew that something wasn’t right as they were herded like sheep into the middle of the group with the four, armed men surrounding them. James called it an escort and Punk couldn’t agree more, but it wasn’t to keep them safe, it was to keep them from escaping. They were prisoners being taken to their cages.

     James kept close to their side and bombarded them with questions, clearly gathering intel to pass on to his superiors although he tried to make it look like friendly banter. Punk was the only one who answered him. Colt was trying his best to keep his cool, while Finn was trying to quell his burning urge to break the stranger’s spine.

     ‘You know, you never did tell me how y’all escaped the Wyatt family?’ James said to the three of them.

     ‘Who’s the Wyatt Family?’ Punk asked back.

     ‘Those hillbillies you ran into. Their leader, Bray Wyatt, fancies himself as some kind of god. Total nut job. Rumour has it they burn those they capture alive and eat their flesh.’

     ‘We weren’t there long enough to find out,’ Punk lied with ease, trying to blot out the memory of the hidden slaughterhouse.

   ‘They’re big guys too,’ James noted. ‘No offense but how exactly did three guys like _you_ get away from them?’

     ‘What do you mean guys like _us_?’ Finn snapped back.

     ‘Hey, hey, I said ‘no offense’,’ James said holding up his hands.

     ‘And none taken,’ Punk replied calmly, giving Finn a warning glance. Finn took the hint and went silent. He knew that barb had infuriated Punk too but he was keeping his cool for the mission’s sake. If a man as stubborn and proud as Punk could keep his composure, so could Finn.

     ‘I just mean, you guys are hardly built like Big Kev over there. Don’t get me wrong, y’all look in decent shape but-‘

     ‘We didn’t fight them,’ Punk cut him off. ‘We just ran.’

     ‘Smart,’ James replied. He said nothing but the way he eyed Finn’s injuries once more told Punk that he knew they were holding back information.

     ‘We’re here,’ the man James had called X-Pac called out and everybody’s attention was diverted forward. The three travellers scanned the horizon, searching for the infamous Garden they had heard so much about. It didn’t take long to find.

     ‘Holy shit,’ Colt cursed under his breath.

     ‘Aint she a beaut?’ James grinned at the trio before leaving to take up the front of the party.

     ‘This changes everything,’ Colt hissed at Punk.

     ‘Colt, you have to stay calm-‘

     ‘This wasn’t part of the plan.’

     ‘We’ll just have to improvise.’

     ‘ _Improvise_? Punk, we can’t do this!

     ‘We _have_ to do this,’ Punk told him. ‘April’s in there.’

     ‘And we’ll help her,’ Colt reassured Punk, ‘but we’ll figure something else out. Dude, if we go in there, there is no way in hell, we’re getting out. When they said it was a prison, I didn’t think they meant an actual prison!’

     Punk turned towards the building once more. What was it that Cena had called it again? Stampen. Punk understood now. It was not ‘Stampen’, it was ‘StamPen’. Stamford Penitentiary. The words were forged in large iron letters, which arched over the foreboding front gates. The building itself was a hulking grey structure, reaching several stories tall with bars over each of its black windows. The reinforced wall that surrounded the prison was several feet thick, twice as tall as Kevin Nash and topped with spirals of brutal barbed wire. It made the fence at the Wyatt compound look miniscule in comparison. Punk swallowed down hard. All of a sudden he felt a cold sweat bead at his back and he was starting to doubt his plan as well.

     ‘We can’t turn back now,’ he said, defiantly. ‘We can do this, we’ll work something out.’

     He felt a hand pat him on the shoulder and found Finn standing beside him.

     ‘I trust you,’ he said. ‘I’m with you.’

     Punk communicated his gratitude to the Irishman with a motion of his head. He turned around to face his friend. ‘Colt?’ he asked, searching for the same response.

     Colt looked over at the pair and immediately guilt began to creep in for his own hesitation and just as he was about to answer that he trusted Punk too, a giant hand gripped his upper arm.

     ‘Chill out, friend,’ the giant Kevin Nash said, with more than just a little threat in his voice.

     ‘I’m good, I’m chilled,’ Colt reassured him but Nash kept his hold tight. ‘You can let go of me now,’ he said but Nash did not release him.

     ‘Come on, man,’ Punk said, taking a step towards Nash. ‘Let him go.’ Still, the big man refused. ‘What the fuck, dude! Just let him go!’ Punk looked at James. ‘Hey, tell your boy to let him go!’

     Colt suddenly let out a yelp as Nash twisted his arm behind his back. Kicking the former wrestler in the back of the knees, he forced him onto the ground. A bolt of black streaked overhead as Finn executed a brutal sling-blade on the larger man, forcing him off of Colt. Like a flash, the former Bullet Club leader was back on his feet and acting as a shield for his companions while Punk helped Colt back to his feet.

     ‘Bastard,’ Colt spat as his legs wobbled beneath him.

     ‘What do we do now?’ Finn asked Punk.

     ‘Shhhhit,’ the Chicago native cursed under his breath.

     Beside them, Nash was getting back up to a vertical base. ‘You little shit,’ he roared and pulled his baton out from its holder. ‘I’ll show you.’

     ‘I’d like to see you try,’ Finn sneered.

     ‘Finn, wait-‘ Punk cried.

     It was too late. Finn sprang towards the larger man who raised his baton high and aimed a swing straight at Finn’s head. The Irishman saw it coming and ducked out of the way just in time. He coiled up, ready to unleash another attack when Punk grabbed him from behind, gripping him tightly around the neck and chest.

     ‘Calm the fuck down!’ Punk hissed in his ears. ‘You’re gonna get us all killed.’

     ‘Good idea, man,’ Nash grinned and took a step towards the pair. ‘Hold him down while I knock him out.’

     ‘Back off!’ Colt jumped in, shielding his friends with his body. ‘He’s recovering from a fucking concussion, you numbskull. You hit him in the head, you might kill him.’

     ‘Woah, woah, woah,’ Jesse ran into the fray, waving his arms. ‘What’s with all this violence? Put your weapon away, Kev.’ Nash hesitated. ‘NOW!’ The large man finally relented and placed his baton back on his thigh. Happy with his obedience, Jesse turned to face Punk, who still had a vice-like grip on Finn. ‘I’m sorry about this. My men can be a little overzealous sometimes.’

     ‘He came at us with a weapon,’ Finn yelled angrily at the Georgia native.

     ‘Shut up, Finn,’ Punk hissed in the Irishman’s ear. ‘Leave the talking to me.’

     ‘You’re right, you’re right,’ Jesse said, ‘and I’m sorry about that. He was just caught off-guard because you attacked him, is all.’

     ‘Which wouldn’t have happened if he had just taking his fucking hands off of me,’ Colt chimed up and Punk felt the situation slip through his grasp completely.

     ‘Look, let’s work this out like gentlemen, alright?’ Jesse said. ‘My man got a little hyped up; your man got a little hyped up. Blows were exchanged but we’re all calm now, right? Let’s put this all behind us and move on.’ He turned to Nash. ‘Kev, go shake the man’s hand.’ Nash let out a loud grunt and started to make his way towards them, his hand outstretched.

     ‘Go shake his hand, Finn,’ Punk ordered the younger man.

     ‘The hell I am,’ Finn snarled. ‘This stinks of a ruse.’

    ‘Finn, please,’ Punk begged. Finn still didn’t make a move but Punk could feel the tension leaving the Irishman’s muscles. ‘Do this for me. For Ape.’

     Finn let out a long, deep sigh through his pursed lips. ‘Ok,’ he relented, ‘let me go.’

     Punk removed his arms from around Finn’s torso and the younger man hesitantly walked over to Kevin Nash. He kept his ice cold eyes locked onto the bigger man the entire time as he neared him, eyeing him suspiciously as he anticipated the backlash. However, none came as he reached out and shook the larger man’s hand.

     A hollow crack sounded out and Finn’s expression fell a moment before his body did. He landed on the floor with a heavy thud.

   ‘FIIIIINN!’

     Punk yelled out and looked up to catch the culprit who had knocked him out. James stood, baton in his hand, shaking his head sadly.

     ‘I knew something fishy was up,’ he said. ‘Three guys like you escaping the Wyatts…?’

     ‘FINN! SHIT!’ It was Colt’s turn to cry out. He tried to rush towards his fallen friend when Gunn grabbed him from behind and succeeded in forcing him to the floor.

     ‘I reckoned at least one of ya had to be dangerous. Only, I thought it was the big guy,’ James said, motioning to Colt who was trying his best to fight back against his attacker. ‘Never suspected the little guy.’

     Punk made a dash to help Colt when James thrust his baton forward and stopped him in his tracks.

     ‘Nuh-uh,’ James taunted, his weapon hovering an inch in front of Punk’s face. Behind him, he could feel the other two men flanking him on each side. ‘Stay right there.’

     Punk watched on helplessly as Colt roared and struggled furiously on the floor. Despite his best efforts, his arms were yanked back behind him and his wrists encased in police-issue cuffs.

     ‘PUNK! RUN!’ Colt yelled out. ‘GO! GET AWAY!’

     Punk stood still, breathing heavily and shaking his head.

     ‘WHAT’RE YOU WAITING FOR? GO!’

     ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Punk told him.

     Colt lowered his head to the floor in defeat.

     ‘Thatta boy,’ James smirked. Punk shot him an ice cold glare, his hazel eyes boring into the Georgia man’s own. ‘We’re not gonna have any more problems now, are we?’

     Punk stared back silently, his heart pounding in his ears.

     ‘Good, now pick him up,’ James said, pointing his baton down at Finn’s prone body. Punk gritted his teeth. ‘Pick him up or we’ll just kill him and leave him here.’ James shrugged his shoulders as if it was an easy enough task. ‘The choice is yours.’

     Punk took in a sharp breath through his nose, trying to keep his unbelievable rage under control. He bit hard on his lip ring, keeping his eyes locked onto his foe.

     ‘You’re gonna regret this,’ he growled at James before bending down and heaving Finn’s unconscious body over his shoulder. Once he made it back to his feet, he found both Nash and X-Pac closely flanking him to make sure he behaved himself. Gunn grabbed Colt by his bound wrists and forced him to his feet, keeping a tight grip on the Chicago native as he pushed him forward and ordered him to walk. The party made their way onwards, the iron gates of Stamford Penitentiary looming closer and closer. The nearer they got, the more the doubts began to plague Punk’s mind.

     _This was not how this was supposed to go._


	40. Stamford Penitentiary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 40 Cover](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/Scorched-Earth-Chapter-40-cover-831007445)   
>  [Full image of the boys in their uniforms](https://www.deviantart.com/thlayli-ra/art/The-Boys-in-Blue-831007843)

     ‘Identify yourselves.’

     ‘Road Dogg. We’ve found some new recruits.’

   ‘Good work boys, bring em in.’

     James smirked over to Punk as the mammoth gates to Stamford Penitentiary opened up like a great, metal flytrap anticipating the arrival of a hapless prey. Finally, Punk caught his first proper look at the prison as it towered above him, swallowing him up in its shadow. Everything about it was cold and dark, more like a hulking gravestone than a garden of Eden.

     ‘Ladies first,’ James sneered, motioning for Punk to make his way inside. When the former wrestler didn’t comply right away, he was shoved ruthlessly from behind by Nash. He nearly lost his footing as Finn’s dead weight threatened to fall off his shoulders, but he composed himself and marched into the small compound at the front of the prison building.

     ‘Yeah, fine, I’m going,’ Colt growled behind him, struggling against Gunn’s iron grip. ‘Take your goddamn hands off of me.’ A swift boot in the back of the legs from Gunn and Colt went hurtling towards the ground. Without his hands to protect him, he slammed against the earth in a cloud of dust particles.

     ‘Colt, you alright buddy?’ Punk queried his friend. He tried to crouch down next to him, but Finn’s body kept slipping from his grip.

   ‘Son of a bitch,’ Colt groaned under his breath.

     Punk’s attention was caught by a new voice entering the fray.

     ‘Feisty lot aren’t they?’ he turned to see a man climbing down from the watchtower to join them. He looked to be in his fifties with thick, grey hair tied back in a ponytail. A toothpick stuck out from between his teeth. ‘You couldn’t find somebody more docile out there, James?’

     ‘Batista will soon grind them bad habits outta them,’ James grinned. ‘They’re young, they’re strong, they’ll be good additions to the workforce.’

     ‘Is that one even still alive?’ the grey-haired man asked, pointing to Finn’s unresponsive form. James only shrugged in reply, not caring in the slightest.

     ‘Hope so,’ was all he replied, ‘we work on commission.’

     ‘I’ve sent someone on ahead to alert Michaels,’ the older man informed James, handing over a key. ‘Take them to holding cell 3.’

     ‘Thanks, Hall,’ James patted the man on the shoulder.

     ‘My pleasure,’ Hall replied and turned back to ascend his watchtower.

     ‘Let’s go, boys,’ James ordered. Colt was yanked back up to his feet and the party began moving once more. This time, they entered the building itself. Punk felt a shiver climb up his spine as the metal door to the prison was opened to allow them in and shut tightly behind them.

     Inside, it was dark and stale. With no electricity, the windowless corridors were flooded with shadow, which made the atmosphere even more claustrophobic and foreboding. The four men escorting them were clearly used to the warren-like corridors and maneuvered their prisoners masterfully through the labyrinth. At last, they stopped outside a metal door, which James unlocked with the key the man at the gates had given him. Punk was instructed to enter while Nash uncuffed Colt before shoving him in too.

     ‘Well, boys, it’s been a pleasure,’ James smirked at the pair. ‘It’s my proudest honour to welcome you all to Eden. You’re gonna love it here.’ The last sentence was dripping with sarcasm.

     James slammed the door shut. The sound of the lock being engaged once more rang around the small, empty room like chimes of doom. Punk and Colt stood still in the centre of the room, trying to digest what had happened to them in the past few minutes.

     ‘What do we do?’ Colt asked, his voice small. The echoes caught his question and it bounced around them. Punk had no reply and could only listen as Colt’s words repeated over and over until they faded to silence.

     Punk and Colt waited patiently in the small holding cell. Punk was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall with Finn, still unconscious but thankfully breathing, lying across his lap. Colt was pacing frantically around the room, his mind as restless as his body.

     ‘This is horseshit,’ Colt spat, ‘they can’t treat us this way.’

     ‘You can’t be surprised,’ Punk said, ‘it’s not like we weren’t given a heads up.’

     ‘I guess,’ Colt admitted. ‘At least now we know how Seth’s Shield buddies were captured.’ Colt looked towards the tiny window situated near the ceiling of the room. He jumped high, trying to see outside but the glass was filthy and the bars set across it only blocked his view further. ‘So what’ll happen now?’

     ‘That guy at the gate said something about a guy called Michaels,’ Punk replied. ‘I don’t know, maybe-‘ He was cut off as Finn began to stir below him.

     ‘Thank god,’ Colt sighed with relief as the younger man finally opened his eyes.

     ‘How you feelin’?’ Punk asked the Irishman as Finn rubbed his eyes with his fists.

     ‘Like some arsehole whacked me in the back of the head,’ Finn replied and tried to sit up when Punk stopped him.

     ‘Hold on, how many fingers?’ Punk asked, raising his hand.

     ‘Three,’ Finn replied correctly. ‘Look, I’m fine,’ he said, swatting Punk’s hand away and sitting up, cradling his thumping skull. ‘See, I’m not even bleeding. No concussion, just a sore head.’

     ‘Good,’ Punk replied.

     ‘What did I miss?’ Finn asked the pair.

     ‘Oh nothing much,’ Colt blurted out, still frantically pacing the floor. ‘Only some motherfucker pushing me to the ground and handcuffing me before we were all locked up in a goddamn _prison_.’

     ‘Colt, you have to calm down,’ Punk sighed.

     ‘Calm down?’ Colt spat. ‘ _Calm down!_ We’re in a fucking metal box. There’s bars across the windows. How in the actual hell am I meant to stay calm when we’re-‘

     ‘Colt,’ Finn said, getting to his feet. He wobbled briefly before finding his equilibrium and making his way towards the former wrestler. ‘Smell, feel, hear, smell, feel, hear, smell-‘

     ‘Don’t start all that shit on me!’ Colt snapped, shoving Finn hard in the chest. The Irishman’s fragile grasp on his balance failed him and he stumbled backwards, unable to twist himself out of the fall. Fortunately, Punk was on his feet and grabbed him before he hit the ground.

     ‘FUCK, COLT!’ Punk cursed. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

     ‘Jesus, I’m sorry,’ Colt stammered. ‘I didn’t mean to-‘

     ‘How many times do I have say it? Calm down. Calm down. Calm the fuck down. And don’t take your fucking anger out on the guy who got himself knocked out trying to save your sorry ass back there.’

     ‘I know, I’m sorry Finn. I wasn’t thinking, I just-‘

     ‘It’s cool,’ Finn smiled weakly at Colt as he righted himself out of Punk’s grip.

     ‘No, it’s not cool,’ Punk butted in again, his anger finally taking hold.

     ‘Punk, he’s scared,’ Finn tried to calm his friend down.

     ‘ALL OF US ARE SCARED!’ Punk yelled back and the room went silent. ‘You want me to say it? Fine! I’m fucking scared. I’ve seen the inside of a handful of police station cells but never thought in my wildest dreams I’d ever see the inside of a prison cell. This right here, this is my worst fucking nightmare.’ Colt lowered his head. ‘None of us are happy about this,’ Punk went on, ‘but we all agreed to come here and we knew what we’d be up against. We gotta focus on _why_ we’re here. We’re on a rescue mission and there’s no time for us to wallow in our own self-pity. We’ve gotta be strong.’

     He was calming down now and seeing how deflated Colt was, he walked over to him and placed his hand on his shoulder ‘Look, the plan was always to get in and get out. I promise we won’t be in here for long. But the only way we’re gonna be able to do that is by working together and keeping our heads down. We can’t afford to slip up around these guys. That means all of us,’ he said, looking towards Finn too. ‘No going off the rails like we did back there, you got that?’

     ‘Got it,’ Finn replied.

     ‘Colt?’ Punk turned to his friend.

     ‘I got it,’ he replied, his voice choking up. ‘I’m sorry.’

     ‘Hey, water under the bridge, buddy,’ Punk reassured him, pulling him into a tight hug and patting him on the back. ‘ It’s done, behind us. Let’s have a fresh start.’

     ‘Someone’s coming,’ Finn warned the pair. Punk felt Colt jolt.

     ‘Remember what I said,’ Punk tried to soothe him. ‘All you gotta do is focus.’

     ‘Focus,’ Colt parroted his words.

     The door to the holding room rattled as it was unlocked from the other side. Colt jumped a mile causing Finn to tense up. Punk shot them both a hiss to remain calm like they had just discussed. Tensions were clearly high within the pair and it was proving difficult for them to quell.

     A tall, broad-shouldered man walked into cell wearing a khaki coloured shirt, open at the collar, and black trousers. His hair was blonde and shaved into a military style mohawk while stubble lined his square jaw. His eyes were the colour of granite, cold and grey. He carried himself with a swagger and an air of importance so arrogant that it made Punk’s gait look humble in comparison.

     ‘Jeez,’ he winced, walking into the middle of the room and scrunching up his nose. ‘You know, for fresh meat, you look sure do stink.’ He waited for a response but only got nasty glares. ‘What, y’all take a vow of silence? You not talkin’?’ Still nothing. ‘Fine, be that way.’ His stance changed, turning more threatening and serious as he tested the weight of his baton in the palm of his hand. ‘Get undressed,’ he instructed them. The three prisoners looked between each other with uncertainty. ‘You want me to call the squad in here and cave your faces in?’ the guard snarled at them. ‘Take your clothes off now or things will get nasty.’

     ‘Alright, alright,’ Punk raised his hands up in defeat. ‘We’ve got the message.’ He shrugged his jacket and hoodie off of his shoulders.

     ‘Why do we need to strip down? What’s gonna happen?’ Colt whispered to Punk.

     ‘I don’t know,’ Punk admitted.

     ‘So you’re just gonna do as he says?’

     ‘We have no other choice.’

     Colt shuffled from foot to foot, confused and scared, but when he saw Finn remove his trainers and jacket, he heaved a frustrated sigh and did as he was told.

     ‘Don’t just dump your shit on the floor,’ the guard bellowed. ‘Fold them – I’m not your goddamn maid.’

     Punk picked up his discarded items and folded them as best he could before removing his shirt. Finn was finished before him, wearing only his underwear with his clothes all neatly folded.

     ‘Hey, pretty boy,’ the guard sneered at Finn. ‘Panties off too.’

     ‘You won’t allow us a shred of dignity?’ Finn’s voice was calm but the look in his eye as he stared down the guard was awash with fire. The guard smiled back.

     ‘Aint no dignity to be found in here, friend. Not for the likes of you.’ Finn narrowed his eyes at the guard and let out a long breath through his nose.

     ‘Do it,’ Punk hissed at him, removing his own undergarments as he did so. Finn shook his head as he reluctantly complied, feeling a shiver crawl down his spine on noticing the guard never lifting his gaze from him once, that patronizing grin carved into his face.

     ‘Good boys,’ the guard sneered at them. ‘Put your shit over by the wall then line up.’ After depositing their worldly positions, they stood in a row, Punk leading at the front. ‘Hat too,’ the guard ordered Punk.

     ‘Yeah, see, I was hoping you’d cut me some slack on that,’ Punk tried to reason with the guard. ‘This cap means a lot to me. It’s all I have left of my hometown. You understand that, right?’

     ‘No,’ the man shot back. ‘Hat! Now!’

     The bridge of Punk’s nose scrunched up as he slowly and reluctantly removed his Cubs cap with one hand. He stared down at the weather beaten token. It wasn’t pretty but it meant the world to him. Abruptly, the guard snatched the cap from his hands and flung it onto the top of his pile.

     ‘Aint no sentiment in here neither,’ the guard simpered sarcastically.

     Punk nibbled his lip ring to try and keep his anger in check. He shivered as the frosty air of the damp cell bit into his exposed skin, his hands too busy cupping his privates to keep what was left of his decency than to rub some heat back into his body.

     ‘Hands behind your head,’ the guard ordered and Punk’s teeth began to grind. _Fine_ , he thought to himself, _humiliate me, mock me, try everything you can to take away my humanity and tear me down. But you will soon learn, like so many have before, I am CM Punk and I never break._

     ‘Ok, start movin’! Hustle!’ the guard yelled and jammed his baton between Punk’s shoulder blades. Punk began to move, jogging on through the door and taking a left as he was ordered. Behind him, Colt and Finn followed in close pursuit with the guard taking up the rear, roaring out orders as they went. They travelled through the dark corridors of the prison building, twisting their way left and right until they felt dizzy. When it seemed like they were stuck in a never-ending labyrinth, double doors opened before them, revealing a large, dimly lit canteen. Punk paused as he stepped inside, spotting several men and women all dressed in khaki uniforms, dotted around the room. Every head turned towards them as the large man entered with his charge.

     ‘Keep movin’,’ the guard ordered. ‘To the door at the far end and outside. Go on! Get!’

     ‘This fresh meat?’ one of the men in the canteen called out.

     ‘Yeah, on their way to induction,’ the tall blonde replied.

     ‘Oh boy, I gotta see this,’ the man replied, rubbing his hands together and eagerly followed the party out. He wasn’t alone as several other guards joined the fray, eager to see what befell the three newcomers. By the time, Punk and his companions were ordered to halt, they had gathered a considerable crowd.

     ‘Hands on the wall, ladies,’ the tall, blonde guard demanded. ‘Keep those eyes forward. I don’t want to see a single peeper looking this way.’

     Punk, Colt and Finn faced the towering wall before them and placed their palms flat against the brickwork. Behind them, the crowd whistled and jeered like a pack of hyenas, taunting with such noise that it brought ringing to their ears. A rock hurled towards them, landing an inch from Punk’s face.

     ‘HEY!’ he turned and yelled at the mob.

     ‘What did I just say?’ the guard was right behind him and grabbing Punk’s wrist and the back of his head, he forced him around to face the wall again. ‘Face that fucking wall and don’t fucking move.’

     The wrath of the crowd was now solely focused on Punk as they rained debasing verbiage down on him. Several more rocks were flung his way, some of which found their mark. He placed his forehead against the wall and shut his eyes tightly, trying in vain to drown out the rabid pack. _So this is your so-called induction? You’re gonna have to try harder than that._

     The rabble behind him intensified, their screeching voices cheering all of a sudden. The urge to turn around itched inside of Punk’s belly, imploring him to catch a glimpse of what was causing such malice glee in his capturers. He chanced to turn his head slightly for a peek. He spied the firehose for a fraction of a second before the blonde guard released the deluge.

     The water hit his defenseless body like a tsunami, the force so great he was thrown against the wall and pinned down, unable to do anything as the freezing water pummeled him. He screamed out in agony feeling as if his skin was being shredded off by a cheese grater. Once the hose had brutalized his back, it moved down to his legs and enough survival instinct kicked in to tell him to protect his head with his arms while he could. The deluge went straight for his skull and he barely bore the brunt, almost collapsing from the overwhelming beating. Finally, as quickly as it arrived, the pressure left and he fell back against the wall, clinging to the solid rock for support.

     The scream from his left told him that the hose had found its next victim, his best friend Colt. He watched on, feeling utterly helpless as his friend endured the same harrowing experience he had just been through. As Colt howled in pain, the noise from the pack reached fever pitch. The laughter and cheers rang in Punk’s ears, bringing his blood to boiling point.

     The water left Colt and he fell to the floor, panting with exhaustion. Punk went to his aid and they both looked on as Finn became the mob’s next target. As the typhoon thrashed at his back, Finn showed that incredible resilience they had both come to admire him for, refusing to give the manic horde the satisfaction of his suffering. The most they got was a grunt from between his clenched teeth as the force struck him for the first time. He stood strong, his stance unwavering as he refused to be a pawn in their sadistic game.

     ‘Hah, watch this,’ the tall guard grinned at the crowd. The water hit Finn right in the back of his bad leg, which he still had wrapped in a brace. It buckled beneath him straight away and the crowd leapt in victory on seeing the Irishman fall. Now that he was down, they piled the punishment on him. Edging closer, they raised the hose high, pinning Finn down on the ground like a mouse caught in a trap. The Irishman barely managed to shield his head with his arms but this proved a mistake. The guard, on seeing his taped up ribs aimed the hose straight for his injury. At last, Finn screamed.

     ‘Cut it out!’ Punk yelled out, jumping to his feet, but his words were drowned out by the barking crowd. They lapped up every ounce of Finn’s anguish, cackling with delight like a coven of witches as the Irishman writhed on the ground.

     ‘I said CUT IT OUT!’ Punk threw himself over Finn, taking on the brunt of the hose himself. The intense pain spreading over his body only amplified his anger and this time, he roared instead of screamed. He felt a presence beside him and found that Colt had joined the fray. Together they gritted their teeth and sacrificed their bodies in order to shield their friend from harm. The horde didn’t seem to care as they continued to punish their victims.

     ‘HEY! SWITCH IT OFF! SWITCH THAT DAMN THING OFF!’

     The booming voice of authority silenced the crowd and they instantly turned the hose off. Punk, Colt and Finn all heaved a sigh of relief, refusing to move from their huddle on the ground.

     ‘You’d best have a good excuse for being here right now,’ the voice demanded of the pack of guards.

     Punk opened his eyes and raised his head slightly to see who the newcomer was. He spied a tall, bald man with stern, dark features and the physique of a body builder. Every inch of him was bulging with muscle, which threatened to burst through the fabric of his khaki shirt. The way he held himself and the crowd told Punk that he was in charge here.

     ‘I’m inducting the newbies as you ordered, sir,’ the tall blonde explained, all of his sarcasm evaporated in the presence of the muscular man before him.

     ‘I remember ordering _you_ to induct them, not half of the staff,’ he turned to the rest of the mob, who were very sheepish all of a sudden. ‘Is that what Hunter pays you lot for? Slacking off when there’s work to do?’

     ‘No, sir,’ the braver of the crowd mumbled while the rest stayed silent.

     ‘Well? Get back to work, the lot of ya!’ It only took one telling and the horde scattered back to the main building. ‘These men were supposed to be in Michaels’ office ten minutes ago.’

     ‘Yes, sir,’ the tall blonde muttered.

     ‘You’re already walking on thin ice, Carter.’

     Punk felt Finn jolt violently beneath him. ‘Hey, you ok?’ he whispered to the Irishman who was still curled up on the ground but received no reply.

     ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Carter replied with his head bowed.

     ‘I don’t want to hear sorry, I want these men up in Michaels’ office. Now!’ The head guard had spoken and the blonde guard was quick to obey.

     ‘You heard him,’ he shouted down to the three men, shivering on the floor. ‘Get up! Let’s move!’

        

     Carter led them to a stairwell and they began to climb. Punk counted five levels before they went back into the main building and down a brighter corridor paneled with windows. Finally, they stopped outside a wooden door and Carter politely knocked.

     ‘Come in,’ a voice called out. Carter opened the door and the man inside glared at the young guard over the rim of his glasses, tapping his watch impatiently.

     ‘I’m sorry, sir. We got held up.’ Carter quickly ushered the trio inside, hoping the new arrivals would distract the older man from his lecture. ‘Line up against the wall.’

     Punk glanced around the room. It was a small office space, sparsely furnished with a chipped desk and a filing cabinet. The large window, which took up most of the opposite wall was filthy with dust and still lined with sun-faded blinds, some of which trailed limply across the floor. Sitting at the desk was a man in his late forties with a wiry build and long greying hair. Punk reckoned that this was the man everyone referred to as Michaels, one of the founders of Eden. He would have been handsome in his youth but time, misfortune and, as Cena had stated, substance abuse, had ripped most of those features away. He still had a sparkle in his eyes, however, even though one of those eyes seemed to be a little out of place.

     ‘Let’s keep this brief,’ the older man sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes wearily. ‘You are now citizens of Eden where the American Dream still lives. So long as you stick by our rules and values, you can prosper here.’

   Punk scoffed at these words. Michaels instantly picked up on it and glared at the former wrestler.

     ‘Is there a problem?’

     ‘Yeah, I have a problem,’ Punk replied, the red mist still lingering in him from before. ‘I was wondering if this whole ‘stick by our values’ thing applied to _all_ of your citizens or only some of them.’ Michaels narrowed his eyes and was about to answer when Punk interrupted him. ‘It’s just that we agreed to come here and since then I’ve had one of my friends knocked out when we plainly told the guy he was recovering from a concussion, my other friend forced to the ground and stuffed into handcuffs then had a bunch of your staff line us up naked against the wall and batter us with a fire hose. I’d hardly call that sticking to values.’

     ‘I’m sorry about that,’ Michaels groaned, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his hands over his face.

     ‘Yeah, you really seem cut up about this,’ Punk mocked.

     The older man sat up again and fixed Punk with a stern gaze. ‘From the report I received, you’ve left some parts out of your story, such as your ‘friend’ attacking one of my men-’

     ‘That was in self-defense,’ Punk explained.

     ‘… and was riled up to the point that you had to physically restrain him.’

     ‘Again, if your men hadn’t-‘

     ‘My men were not only thinking of their own safety but the safety of your friend. If they hadn’t subdued him, he could have hurt himself far worse.’

     ‘That’s horseshit!’ Punk bellowed. ‘How is knocking out someone with a concussion meant to-‘

     ‘Son, if you don’t calm yourself, you’re gonna begin your stay here cooling off in solitary.’

     Punk clenched his jaw shut. The anger and frustration was still swirling inside him like a cyclone but he couldn’t risk being locked away in solitary. He swallowed his pride and kept his mouth closed.

     ‘Good to see, you have some sense in you,’ Michaels said. ‘Keep that anger in check, kid, it could get you in serious trouble here. As I was saying before, we expect you to live by our rules and values, in particular, our Three Expectations – work hard, treat others with respect and act fairly. Follow these and not only will you live a peaceful, happy life here, you could even climb the ladder and become a guard one day. What do you think of that?’

     ‘I’ve never cared much for authority,’ Punk said back flatly.

     ‘Yeah, me neither,’ Michaels muttered under his breath. ‘Right, let’s get you registered.’ He opened a drawer on his desk and pulled out a withered notebook. Stuttering up onto his weary legs, he walked over to a door in the far wall and unlocked it before heading inside. He returned with three bundles of clothes in his hand, which he sat on the desk.

     ‘Right, let’s see,’ he said, flopping back onto his creaky chair, he examined one of the bundles of clothes, revealing a line of white numbers spray painted across the back. ‘52361,’ Michaels muttered and flicked through the notebook until he found the corresponding number in his list. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

   ‘CM Punk,’ the Chicago native replied. He’d be damned if he gave his real name to these creeps. To his surprise Michaels accepted the pseudonym and penciled it in.

     ‘Here you go,’ he said, offering the clothes to Punk without lifting his eyes from the page. ‘66036,’ Michaels muttered. ‘Name.’

     ‘Finn Bálor.’

     ‘Here. 21890, name?’

     ‘Colt Cabana.’

     ‘Great,’ Michaels called out, closing the notebook again and throwing it back into the drawer. ‘That’s you registered. Now as for where you’re staying. You’ll be in Wing A. Our rooms are only big enough for two people so one of you will have to share with somebody else. I’ll let you decide among yourselves who that will be. Speak to your fellow citizens, they will fill you in on our rules and show you how the currency works here.’

     ‘Currency?’ Punk asked. His question fell on deaf ears.

     ‘I’m sure you’ll stick to our Three Expectations and won’t make any more nuisances of yourselves.’

     Carter, who this whole time had stood silently by the door, now stepped forward. ‘I’ll take them to their cells, sir.’

     ‘No need, I’ve called for Mizanin to escort them.’

     ‘Yes, sir,’ Carter lowered his head in defeat.

     ‘Mizanin!’ Michaels’ call alerted the guard outside who opened the door.

     ‘Sir,’ the new guard replied. He was around the same age and height as Punk, with spiked, brown hair and a face that was just screaming out for a good punch.

   ‘We’re done here. You can take them now.’

     ‘Yes, sir.’

     They each marched out of the room, Mizanin leading them away. As the door closed behind him Punk heard Michaels’ voice barking at Carter. ‘You couldn’t have dried them first? They were dripping all over my carpet!’

 

     Mizanin led them back to the stairwell and down to the ground floor. As they entered the dimly lit section of the building once more, Punk glanced at his companions. Finn was now leading at the front, his head down and his limp more pronounced after his encounter with the fire hose, but his gait was still strong and confident.

     Colt was trying to catch his eye. Punk found it and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

     ‘Was that you staying calm back there?’ Colt whispered to him. His words were scolding but a warm smile was on his features. Punk shook his head wryly and smiled back. Keeping a cool head was going to prove very difficult in this place.

     Onwards they marched through the spiraling prison until they landed at a long corridor, blocked at both ends with metal gates. Mizanin unlocked the first gate, bundled his prisoners through before locking it again. The same happened at the far end. Punk made a mental note to dismiss the corridor as a possible escape route.

     Once through the far gate, they found themselves in a prison wing, three floors high and lined with small cells on each side. Punk swallowed a lump stuck in his throat at the sight spread out before him. Over the years, he had found himself in a police holding cell from time to time, but he always knew it was just for a few hours and one bail pay-off later he would be a free man again. However something about being in a prison while holding a prison uniform in his arms made it seem final, as if he would be here for an eternity.

     They followed the guard up some spiraling, metal stairs to the floor above and walked along the platform, all three peeking over the edge of the balcony to the ground floor below.

     ‘Here we go, two of you are in here,’ Mizanin declared.

   ‘Both of you, go,’ Punk said firmly.

     ‘You sure?’ Colt asked. He didn’t like the idea of them being split up.

     ‘I’ll be fine,’ Punk smiled confidently at the pair, giving them reassurance.

     ‘Ok,’ Colt replied stiffly. ‘After you,’ he motioned to Finn. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ Colt said, pulling Punk into a strong hug. ‘Take care of yourself, yeah?’

     ‘You too,’ Punk returned. He watched as Colt walked into the cell. Punk got a brief glimpse of both of his friends glancing back towards him before the guard slammed the door shut and they were obstructed from view. The smile vanished from Punk’s face.

     He observed the guard pulling a ring of keys from his pocket.

     ‘You’re locking them in?’ Punk queried.

     ‘It’s too late in the day to put you all to work,’ he explained. ‘You’re gonna have to wait until tomorrow. No point waiting till curfew to lock up.’

     ‘Curfew?’

     ‘All citizens have to be back in their rooms by 9pm. We then go round and lock all the doors. Don’t want anybody wandering off to Wing B.’

     ‘Why? What’s at Wing B?’ Punk asked.

     ‘The women,’ Mizanin winked at him. Punk made sure to remember that.

     ‘Right, your room is another flight up.’ Mizanin led Punk up yet another spiral staircase and to yet another door. Mizanin opened the door and Punk walked in. Without a single word, the door closed with a bang and Punk heard the sound of the key locking him firmly into the cell. He looked around his new home. It was sparse, furnished with only two rusted metal beds and two tiny bedside cabinets that made IKEA look high end. The room was cold and damp. The bottom corner of the tiny window mounted high up near the ceiling was broken and a trickle of water seeped in through the crack. Moss lined where the leak fell down the wall and into a small metal bucket that was almost full.

     Despite the natural state of the room, it was well kept. The bed, which Punk guessed was occupied by his cellmate, was neatly made, the bed sheet tucked in under the threadbare mattress. A spare white shirt had been carefully folded up and sat on the single pillow.

     Punk turned his attention to his own bed. The mattress had been folded over on itself so he pulled the end down. He’d been hoping to find a blanket tucked inside but there was nothing else, not even a pillow. He let out a long, lingering breath and swore he could see it in the cold air.

     He pulled on his uniform – white vest, white T-shirt, navy jumpsuit and white canvas shoes. Standard issue underwear and socks had also been kindly provided. Once dressed, he lay down onto the bed. The mattress was so thin he could feel the metal supports against his back. He pulled his arms out of the sleeves of his jumpsuit and folded them over his chest to generate some heat. Staring up at the ceiling, he knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep that night and allowed his mind to race.

     He had to remind himself that it wasn’t a real prison. It was a settlement that happened to live in a prison and although there were locked gates and guards everywhere, it wasn’t inescapable. They didn’t have the benefit of electronic technology anymore, no CCTV, no electric fences and no timed locks. The guards couldn’t be everywhere at once and furthermore, Punk and his associates were not alone. At that very moment, Luci and Seth would be scouting the exterior of the building, looking for any weak spots to exploit. Together they would figure this conundrum out and they would escape with the rest of the Shield and, more importantly, April in tow.

 

     An hour or so later, Punk was stirred from his thoughts by a ruckus outside his cell door. He sat up slightly and listened carefully.

     ‘But I don’t understand, it’s not curfew yet,’ a man’s voice sounded on the other side of the door. ‘I swear, I’m on time.’

     Another voice only grunted in reply. ‘Hold on.’

     A rattle told Punk that the door was being unlocked. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and waited as the door was opened.

     ‘There, now get in,’ the gruff voice ordered and a man shuffled into the cell.

     ‘I still don’t know why this happened,’ the man said, turning behind him. ‘I hope this won’t affect my-‘ The door slammed shut in his face. ‘- tokens…’ The man’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He turned around to walk to his bed and jumped a foot when he found he wasn’t alone. ‘Holy shi-‘ the man gasped out. ‘I didn’t even see you there.’

     ‘Sorry,’ Punk said.

     ‘No, no, it’s not your fault,’ the man replied. ‘It’s just so dark in here. Hold on, just let me-‘ He walked over to his tiny cabinet and began rummaging around inside, finally pulling out a couple of items. A sharp sound of scraping was followed up with a flash of light and the man lit a puny candle before blowing out the match. ‘There, that’s better,’ he grinned and stood up, holding the candle in his hand. It lit up his face, showing a man in his late twenties with flaming red hair and a matching beard. Something about the man was strangely familiar but Punk couldn’t put his finger on it.

     ‘Hi, I’m Sami,’ the man said, offering his hand.

     ‘I’m Punk,’ the former wrestler took his hand and shook it.

   ‘Is something wrong? Do I have something on my face?’ Sami chuckled nervously. Sure enough, Punk was staring at the man, studying him intently.

     ‘Have we met before?’ Punk asked.

     ‘Mmm,’ Sami seemed stunned by the question. ‘Don’t think so. You’re new here, right?’

     ‘We arrived today,’ Punk confirmed. ‘Assholes ambushed me and my friends.’

     ‘Some of the guards have… charming personalities,’ he said. He began to laugh but suddenly stopped himself and covered his mouth. ‘That wasn’t mean to sound sarcastic by the way. I didn’t mean it like-‘

     ‘They’re assholes,’ Punk said, with a shrug. ‘Call it like it is.’

     Now it was Sami’s turn to stare at Punk. ‘You said, we’ve met before?’

     ‘Yeah, I recognise you, it’s weird,’ Punk said, trying to wrack his brain. ‘You’re Canadian, right?’

     ‘Yeah, well actually French-Canadian-slash-Syrian to be precise. How’d you know that?’

     ‘Your accent. I spent some time in Canada after the Event,’ Punk said. ‘Is that where we met?’

     ‘I’ve been here in Florida for a few years now,’ Sami replied, shaking his head. ‘I was here when the Event took place.’

     ‘Then that can’t be it,’ Punk said, nibbling on his lip ring. A light went off in his head. ‘Bayley…’ he muttered.

     ‘Huh?’ Sami spluttered. ‘What did you say?’

     ‘You know Bayley,’ Punk told him. He remembered the tiny figurine she had made of him.

     ‘No, no, you’re wrong, I don’t know anybody by that name,’ the man stammered. There was a sudden change in his demeanour, Punk noticed. His movement became more frantic and panicked. The hand holding the candle was shaking violently, making shadows ripple across the walls. ‘You know what?’ Sami said, ‘I’ve been working all day, I’m really tired. So, it was nice meeting you but it’s time we went to bed. It _is_ after curfew now, so we should be asleep anyway.’ He made to turn his back to Punk when he suddenly stopped and spun back to face him again. ‘I bought this candle with my tokens by the way. Talk to Mizanin if you don’t believe me.’

     ‘Hey, hey, calm down, I just-‘ Punk tried to soothe the red-head but it only seemed to work him up even more.

     ‘Ok, night-night,’ he yelled out and blew out the candle hastily. The Canadian jumped into his bed and turned his face to the wall and began to feign sleep. The entire display had been so abrupt and so bizarre that it left Punk reeling. As he settled down onto his own bed, he wondered to himself exactly what he had just witnessed.


	41. Settling In

     Morning crept in and flickers of light crawled nervously into the dark cell that Punk currently called home. He watched as dust particles swayed in the few beams of light that managed to find its way through the grimy window. As he had expected, he had not slept a wink that night. The cold, the hard bed, the constant drip-drip of water splashing into the bucket as well as the adrenaline building in his chest had all contributed to his restless night but his racing brain had been the main perpetrator. His mind had wandered to so many different places that he couldn’t even remember them all. All he knew was that, today, he had to find out as much information as possible about Eden and its inhabitants, starting with his nervous cellmate, Sami.

     He was roused from his thoughts by a cacophony of noise outside, the sound of loud, incessant rattling making its way down the corridor. The melee had a profound impact on Sami who leapt from his bed and rapidly straightened up the ruffled sheets.

     ‘What’s going on?’ Punk asked, sitting up onto the edge of his bed.

     ‘Roll call,’ Sami replied. ‘Hurry.’ The red haired man dashed to the door and finding it unlocked, stepped outside, Punk following behind him. ‘Stand there,’ Sami instructed Punk, pointing to one side of their cell door. Punk followed his orders and watched as Sami stood at the other side of the entranceway, faced the wall and placed his hands upon the brickwork. Hesitantly, Punk took up the same position. Standing this way brought back memories of the day before and made him nervous. He waited.

     ‘What now?’ he queried.

    ‘Shhh,’ Sami hissed at him.

     Punk rolled his eyes and maintained his stance. He quickly glanced down the corridor and spotted a guard walking down the line with a clipboard in hand. He recognised the man from yesterday – Mizanin, the one who had shown them to their cells. He watched as Mizanin checked the numbers on the back of each citizen and ticked it off his sheet of paper. He paused briefly behind Punk to pencil in the new ID number on his sheet before moving on.

     ‘Stay there,’ Sami warned him, seeing that Punk was about to stand up straight again. ‘Wait until they give the order.’

     After a few more minutes, the sound of rattling boomed out once more and all of the prisoners were free to stand up. In a neat, orderly line, the marched their way along the corridor and down the spiral staircase. Punk fell in with the strange parade, taking the chance to drink in his surroundings as he walked. Now he could see the prison wing in the cold light of day, it was even more daunting. The roof was lit up like a beacon by the sun filtering through the cloudy glasswork. It made the place look even bigger and, strangely, even colder. It bounced off the metal walls, metal railings and metal doors, turning the entire wing a dull shade of grey.

     What amazed Punk the most was the number of people that lived here. Just by a quick glance to the opposite side of the wing, he could guess that there was more than a hundred people in this area alone. He wondered how many more there were in the rest of the prison.

     As he made his way down the stairs to the floor below, he tried to spot his friends, who he hoped had figured out the daily morning ritual on their own. He was itching to meet up with them again so that they could decide what their next course of action would be. Getting into Eden was the easiest part of the plan, the next step would be tricky and they would have to improvise as they went.

     Finally, he reached the ground floor and followed the march to the far end of the room, dodging around a myriad of tables and benches. It instantly reminded him of the canteen at Knocks and his mind drifted to back to the little gym. He suddenly found himself wishing he could be back there, surrounding by friendly faces, enjoying a comfy bed and a hearty meal before tending the lush garden. As quickly as the thought came, he shook it from his mind. This was not the time for reminiscing. He had to focus.

     The line in front of him stopped and he stood in place. Peeking around the man in front of him, Punk could see he was now in a queue, waiting in line for their breakfast. Punk felt a vibration in his stomach and abruptly discovered how hungry he was. Fortunately, the queue moved on a brisk pace and he soon found himself being handed a bowl of watery porridge. It didn’t look like much but at that moment in time, he wasn’t feeling fussy. He was pushed on to the next server behind the metal counter who placed their palm out in front of him.

     ‘Three tokens,’ he ordered.

     ‘I arrived yesterday,’ Punk told him. ‘I wasn’t given any.’ The man heaved an impatient sigh and yanked the bowl away from Punk’s fingers. ‘HEY!’ Punk snapped.

     ‘Come back tomorrow once you’ve earned your keep.’

     Punk was raging inside but bit his tongue and stepped away from the queue. He stood, facing the sea of faces before him, feeling lost and alone, drifting in the waves, when a hand motioned over to him and he found solid ground. Colt and Finn were sitting at the end of one of the long tables and had saved him a place.

     ‘So your breakfast was taken off you too?’ Colt mused as Punk arrived empty handed.

     ‘This is bullshit!’ Punk spat as he slammed his backside onto the bench. ‘So they just leave you to starve here?’

     ‘Looks like we’ll just have to work hard today so that we can make some money to live off,’ Colt shrugged.

     ‘How was your night?’ Punk asked the pair, noting the bags under Colt’s eyes.

     ‘Neither of us could sleep,’ Colt told him. ‘Our beds didn’t even come with a blanket.’

     ‘Neither did mine,’ Punk said. ‘Must be another ‘luxury’ you can buy with your tokens.’

     ‘Guess you really have to start from the bottom in this place.’

     Punk looked over to Finn who was acting more taciturn than usual. ‘You hanging in there, kid?’

     ‘I’m fine,’ he replied, nonchalantly scratching the back of his neck. It brought Punk’s attention to the garment wrapped around the Irishman’s throat.

     ‘Where did you get that from?’ Punk asked, pointing at the familiar bandana.

     ‘I snuck it past the guards yesterday when they took our things,’ Finn said with a shrug. Punk gaped back at him and blinked his eyes slowly.

     ‘What? How?’ he demanded. ‘How the hell did you hide- you know what, never mind, I don’t wanna know.’

     ‘So what’s our next step?’ Colt asked, keen to change the subject. He leaned in close so nobody around them could hear their conspiring.

     ‘We need to find out as much as we can about this place,’ Punk told the pair. ‘Today, ask around, see what intel you can gather. Guard routines, where all these doors lead, possible exits and escape routes. I’m gonna work on my cellmate.’

     ‘Your cellmate?’ Colt asked.

     ‘He knows Bayley,’ Punk explained. ‘I remember her telling me about him that night in the canteen.’

     ‘So he’s an ally?’ Colt queried.

     ‘Possibly,’ Punk answered. ‘As soon as I mentioned her, he freaked out and refused to speak. I’ll try and gain his trust today so that he’ll talk. You two, keep an eye out for April and any members of the Shield.’

     ‘Found one,’ Finn cut in and both Punk and Colt eyed him with bewilderment.

     ‘What?’ Colt spluttered.

     ‘You said one was a big guy, black hair with tribal tattoos down one arm, right?’

     ‘Yeah…’

     Finn replied by silently pointing his finger behind the two Chicago natives. They glanced over their shoulders and after a quick scan of the room, found a tall, muscular man with long, raven hair pulled back into a bun. Distinctive tattoos spilled out from underneath the strap of his vest, and travelled the length of his right arm. They recognised Roman Reigns straight away. A shudder went down both of their spines.

     ‘Well, that was easy enough,’ Colt said. ‘One down, two to go.’ He looked over to Punk. ‘You wanna go talk to him?’

     Punk ran his tongue over his lip ring, making it wiggle back and forth. ‘Not yet,’ he finally said. ‘We’ll catch him later tonight.’

     ‘Yeah, good plan,’ Colt nodded his head. ‘That way, you can figure out what you’re gonna say.’

     ‘What _I’m_ gonna say?’ Punk said accusingly to Colt.

     ‘Yeah, when _you_ go talk to him,’ Colt replied.

     ‘Why do _I_ have to talk to him,’ Punk bit back.

     ‘Cause you’re the leader,’ Colt shrugged.

     ‘I’ll talk to him,’ Finn said, standing up and pulling his bandana over his lower face.

     ‘Sit down!’ Punk snapped, yanking the younger man back onto the bench. ‘Look, _we_ are a team and _we’re_ doing this together.’

     ‘Ok, ok,’ Colt relented.

     Their conversation was interrupted by another earsplitting rattle. This time, Punk could see the huge metal pot that the guards used as some form of alarm to rally the prisoners.

     ‘Breakfast time is over,’ one of the guards boomed out. ‘Report to your team leaders for today’s tasks.’ The crowds around them began to break apart and rapidly filtered out of the room. Punk and his companions watched on with confusion, not sure where to go. Another guard marched over to them.

     ‘You idiots deaf or something?’ he snarled at the trio. ‘Get to your team leaders now.’

     ‘We’re new,’ Punk told the guard. ‘We don’t know who our team leader is.’

     ‘Which room you in?’

     ‘I’m not sure, it’s on the third floor.’

     ‘Right,’ the guard replied and looked around him. ‘Mizanin. Over here.’ The guard that now seemed to be a permanent fixture in Punk’s day now came wandering over. ‘These newbies come from your floor,’ the first guard told Mizanin. ‘Give them their tasks for today. Something to ease themselves into how things work here at Eden.’

     Mizanin looked anything but pleased about this. ‘Fine,’ he said, sulkily, ‘come on.’

     He took them to the back of the room and out of a door, which, back in the days when it was still a prison, would have lead to the recreation yard outside. But instead of a flat field of dust, the monstrous yard was ripe and green with plants of every variety. The flora was so plentiful and crammed that it made the garden back at Knocks look like a plot of weeds. It was abundantly clear that this was an established Garden and was expertly cared for.

     The field was so huge that it had been sectioned off into different patches by wire fences. Each section had around 30 people working on it and for the first time since their arrival, they saw the women who resided at Eden. Punk instantly began checking each face for a sign of April but the yard was so huge and the foliage so dense he would never be able to check everybody.

     The Garden should have been a beautiful sight but was overshadowed by the twenty-foot high wall on each side, ringing the yard and its inhabitants in so forcefully that it reminded them of their plight and brought them back to reality. They followed Mizanin down the dusty path, which cut through the centre of the garden, passing by each section as they went. They passed by patches of marrows, pea vines, lettuces and carrots and suedes, and trees, just inching over the height of an average man, loaded with ripe oranges. Each of the hungry men began to feel their mouth water and their stomachs complain at the sight of the fresh produce.

     Finally, after walking for close to ten minutes, they reached the far end of the garden and found themselves facing a huge plot. In stark contrast to the lush pasture behind them, these plots were cold and barren, nothing but dried up dusty ground.

     ‘We recently added some new land onto the Garden,’ Mizanin explained, unlocking a gate to one of the plots. ‘We need to get it ready for seeding. That’ll be your job.’

     ‘How do we do this without any tools?’ Punk asked as he and his companions were herded through the gate into the section.

     ‘I’m gonna grab one of our experienced citizens to show you the ropes,’ Mizanin said as he locked the three into the section again. ‘Hold tight and don’t even try any funny business.’ He disappeared again down the pathway and all three took in their surroundings.

     ‘The sun’s hot,’ Colt pointed out, trying to break the deafening silence.

     ‘It’s only morning,’ Punk warned his friend. ‘It’s about to get a lot hotter soon.’

     ‘I never noticed it so much at-‘

     ‘Shh!’ Punk cut off Colt before he could say the gym’s name.

     As the other two chatted, Finn slowly walked to the wire gate trapping the trio in. He wrapped his fingers around the metal wire, feeling the heat it had captured from the morning sun. He stared down at the immense Garden, taking in the fact that this was where Bayley has spent so many months. She had been just like the people before him now, working like a slave in order to afford basics such as food or a blanket. This was where she was tormented, beaten and starved.

His thoughts were interrupted as he spotted Mizanin returning with a prisoner in tow, a man that Finn did not recognise who was juggling with several large spades and picks in his arms. Finn took a few steps back to allow Mizanin to unlock the gate and shove the man inside. The prisoner stood frozen in place, his face a placid shade of white and his eyes swollen with panic. Finn couldn’t understand the man’s fear, especially as it seemed to be directed right at Punk. Finn glanced over to his Chicagoan friend who was returning the man’s gaze with a lopsided grin on his face.

     ‘Nice to see you again, Sami,’ Punk greeted the newcomer.

 

     The morning was long and hot. The work was backbreaking as they fought to break up the dried ground that the sun had made as hard as concrete. Each time they stopped, even just to catch their breath, Mizanin ordered them to get back to work. Everything was so different back in Knocks. While their tasks there had been labouring they were manageable and as soon as they felt themselves begin to struggle they were free to rest or move onto a less demanding job.

   As the hours passed, the sun burned brighter and the huge wall did little to block out its sweltering gaze. The three friends felt the temperature rising and resorted to knotting the top half of their jumpsuits around their waist to try and cool down. As it neared midday, they shed their shirts and eventually their vests, tucking them into their backpockets. It did little to stop the sweat dripping down their skin. Soon, each one felt the effects of dehydration as the dizziness began to set in.

     ‘This is getting unbearable,’ Colt gasped out as he hacked at the solid ground with his pick.

     ‘Surely, we must be allowed to rest soon,’ Punk said, glancing over at Mizanin who was lounging in a chair outside the gate, sitting back with a pair of sunglasses on.

     ‘Dear God, I hope so,’ Finn chimed in, visibly out of breath. ‘I don’t think I can go on much longer.’

     ‘Why don’t you ask your new friend?’ Colt suggested, pointing with his thumb to Sami. Punk’s cellmate had kept a safe distance from the trio that entire morning. After handing out their tools and giving a quick demonstration of what they had to do, he had scarpered to the opposite end of the plot and had not glanced their way once.

     ‘Don’t think he’s in much of a talking mood,’ Punk muttered, shooting the red head a dirty glance. ‘I don’t get it, what’s his problem?’

     ‘He doesn’t trust us,’ Finn remarked. ‘He thinks we were sent to spy on him.’

     ‘How’d you figure that?’ Punk asked him.

     ‘Think about it. You suddenly appear in his cell one night and instantly start spouting off about Bayley, who’s probably enemy number one around here. The guy was her friend and may have even broke several rules to help her, putting his own welfare at risk. Then suddenly, he’s ordered to spend the whole day locked up in here with us. He’ll think we’re here to rat him out.’

     ‘I didn’t think of it that way,’ Punk sighed. ‘I guess in a place like this it’s not easy to trust people, especially not new faces.’

     ‘So what can we do to prove that we’re friends?’ Colt asked.

     ‘I might have something,’ Finn replied and shouldered his spade. Punk and Colt watched as he hobbled over towards Sami at the other end of the section. The red head was doing his very best to pretend he hadn’t noticed the Irishman approaching him.

     ‘Hi,’ Finn greeted the Canadian warmly as he took up position next to him.

     ‘Uh, what are you doing?’ Sami spluttered on seeing Finn begin to churn up the ground beside him.

     ‘Figured you would need some help, being over here by yourself,’ Finn told him.

     ‘I’m managing fine, really,’ Sami stammered. ‘You can go back to your friends.’

     ‘Our task is to plough this entire plot by the end of today,’ Finn reminded him. ‘Me and my buddies are new so we really need the coin. I don’t know about them but I can’t manage another day with an empty stomach. Far as I’m concerned, we’re a team and we need to work like one if we want to finish this in time.’

     ‘Oh, right, ok.’ Sami went back to hacking up the ground, keeping his head low and his mouth shut.

     ‘I have to apologise for my friends,’ Finn went on.

     ‘What? Why?’ Sami asked.

     ‘Well, you know how forward Americans can be,’ Finn shrugged. ‘They like to get straight to the point. They don’t really grasp etiquette, you know?’

     Sami actually smiled at that. ‘I’m used to it.’

     ‘Be that as it may,’ Finn said, pausing and standing up straight, ‘let’s do this like gentlemen. I’m Finn Bálor.’ He held out his hand. Sami looked at it for a few seconds, deciding whether it was a genuine gesture or if something more sinister was lurking behind it.

     ‘I’m Sami Zayn,’ he finally relented and accepted the handshake. As soon as he grasped the Irishman’s hand, Finn locked on tightly and Sami could feel something small and solid lodged between their palms. Sami looked into Finn’s vibrant blue eyes with an expression of shock but Finn silently told the man to act normal.

     ‘Hey, you two!’ Mizanin yelled from behind them. ‘Enough with the pleasantries and get back to work.’ The two separated again and Finn began to wildly hack the ground in order to camouflage the fact that Sami was busy examining the item that Finn had slipped him.

     ‘It’s hard to tell when I don’t have my jacket and trainers-‘ Finn began to explain.

     ‘It’s you,’ Sami confirmed, holding the small figurine that Bayley had made of Finn between his thumb and forefinger. ‘She made sure to capture your eyes.’ He paused for a moment. ‘You and Bayley?’

     Finn paused for a moment. ‘We’re just starting out,’ he said, finally.

     ‘I can’t believe this,’ Sami uttered out. ‘My brain’s still trying to process it all. She’s _alive_!’

     ‘You didn’t know?’

     ‘She just went missing one night,’ Sami explained with sadness in his voice. ‘Whenever someone goes missing around here, you just assume they’re dead.’

     ‘Do people vanish a lot?’ Finn asked, his eyes narrowing.

     ‘All the time,’ Sami confessed, bitter grief in his voice. ‘How did she escape?’

     ‘She was helped by Sasha Banks and John Cena,’ Finn explained.

     ‘That’s right, they went missing around the same time,’ Sami gasped out in wonder. ‘I’d forgotten that. I never really knew Sasha and nobody here mourns for the guards. Even though Cena was the most honourable of them.’ Sami looked down at the wooden figure in his hand once more and smiled warmly. ‘I can’t believe she still makes these.’

     ‘She made one of you,’ Finn told him, ‘that’s how Punk recognised you.’

    ‘I did wonder,’ Sami chuckled.

     ‘So do you believe us now? That we’re not spies.’

     ‘Yes.’

     ‘Good, because we need your help,’ Finn said, his voice deadly serious. ‘You were Bayley’s friend. Can we trust you?’

     ‘Yes, of course,’ Sami replied, his voice starting to quiver. ‘Why? What are you doing?’

     ‘We have friends of ours being held here,’ Finn explained, ‘and we’re going to break them out.’

     ‘Wh-what! Excuse me?’ Sami burst out.

     ‘If you help us, we’ll make sure that you escape with us too.’

     ‘No, no, absolutely not!’ Sami shot back.

     ‘Don’t tell me that you want to stay here,’ Finn growled, ‘because I’ll know it’s a lie.’

     ‘Look, I know you mean a lot to Bayley so I’ll be 100% honest with you,’ Sami said, trying to placate the Irishman. ‘I helped her when she was being targeted by the guards. When she didn’t make her quota, I shared my food with her. All it did was earn me time in solitary. When I finally got out, Bayley had disappeared. That’s when reality hit me. If I kept shaking the boat, I’d just fall overboard and drown.’

     ‘My friends and I will protect you.’

     Sami let out a wry laugh. ‘Friendships don’t survive in this place,’ he said, sourly. He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to wipe away the sweat. ‘I’m really sorry,’ he said, handing Finn back the trinket Bayley had given him, ‘I wish you all the luck in the world but… I can’t help you. You understand, right?’

     ‘Yeah,’ Finn said coldly, accepting the figurine and swiftly pocketing it.

     Finn turned around and trundled back to Punk and Colt who looked up at him expectantly.

     ‘Well?’ Colt asked.

     ‘He’s not going to be any help to us,’ Finn confessed to them. ‘The guy’s paralysed with fear.’

     ‘Shhhhhit,’ Punk cursed.

     ‘Well, we’re back to square one,’ Colt sighed.

     ‘Not quite,’ Punk told the pair, ‘we’ve still found Roman Reigns and he’s been here a while now. If we speak to him and through some miracle he doesn’t just kill us straight away, he might be willing to help us.’

     ‘Helping us will benefit him too,’ Finn said, ‘he’ll know that.’

     ‘True,’ Colt responded, ‘but you don’t know the guy. He’ll take some convincing.’

     ‘Well then,’ Finn said with a cocky grin, stretching out his hands and cracking his knuckles, ‘you’re in luck. As you’re well aware by now ‘convincing’ is my middle…’ Finn’s words trailed off as something took his attention away. Punk and Colt followed his gaze and spotted a man walking down the path towards Mizanin. Punk recognised the guard who had given them their ‘induction’ the day before.

     ‘What does that asshole want?’ Punk muttered under his breath.

     The blonde guard muttered something to Mizanin who nodded in response. After saying his piece, the guard turned and walked away back down the path.

     ‘Break time,’ Mizanin yelled out to the four men locked behind the gate. ‘Take a half hour.’

     ‘Thank God!’ Colt heaved and flopped onto the hard ground, his pick clattering against the soil beside him. He couldn’t help but groan out in ecstasy as he lay flat on his back and allowed his muscles to rest. Punk looked down at him and chuckled.

     ‘You can’t stay there,’ Punk told his best friend.

     ‘I can and I will,’ Colt shot back, not even bothering to open his eyes.

     ‘You’ll burn up in this sun,’ Punk warned him. ‘Come on, we’ll rest in the shade over there.’

     ‘Can’t…move,’ Colt murmured and Punk shook his head wryly.

     ‘Hey, Finn, give me a hand?’ He didn’t receive a reply so Punk looked over to the Irishman. He was on a different plane of existence, staring away down into the garden. ‘Finn!’

     ‘Yeah!’ Finn snapped from his thoughts and turned back to his companions.

     ‘Help me move this fat lump,’ Punk said.

     ‘I’m not fat, I’m just beefy,’ Colt said sulkily as Punk and Finn grabbed an arm and a shoulder each and dragged the former wrestler over to the shade beside the outer wall. Finally, they all collapsed onto the ground and slumped against the cool brickwork, each feeling their bodies creak.

     ‘That was tough,’ Finn groaned as he lay back and shut his eyes.

     ‘I know,’ Punk replied, ‘how are you still so heavy, Colt?’

     ‘It’s just the way my mama made me,’ Colt pouted.

     ‘I didn’t mean that,’ Finn said with a laugh, ‘I meant this entire morning. All this work with empty stomachs, not even water…’

     ‘It has been tough,’ Punk agreed. ‘How you coping, kid?’

     ‘My leg’s not enjoying it but it’s my ribs that are killing me.’ Finn rubbed a hand over the square bandage taped across the side of his torso. While most of his stitches had now been removed, some still lingered on the nasty laceration he had endured at the hand of Seth’s hammer since Sasha wanted to give the wound more time to knit itself together. ‘Every time I lift up my spade, it’s like I’m being stabbed and now my whole side feels like it’s burning.’

     ‘Try and take it easy,’ Punk told him. ‘Remember, we won’t be here long. Might as well waste our energy on getting out of here, not playing their game.’

     ‘And anyway…’ Colt muttered, ‘I’m practically a skeleton compared to what I used to be-‘

     ‘Ok, ok,’ Punk cut him off. ‘I get it, I’m sorry. Happy?’

     ‘I’ll be even better if you could work the rest of the shift for me?’

     ‘No chance,’ Punk retorted. ‘If Finn can do it, so can you.’

     ‘I don’t feel good.’

     ‘Suck it up.’

     The half hour break was over in a heartbeat and the three men felt their bodies droop when Mizanin announced that they had to get back to work. Punk was the first to heave himself to his feet and helped Finn who visibly winced as pain shot through his ribs. He then offered a hand to help Colt up but as soon as his best friend reached a vertical base, he stumbled and Punk had to use both hands to help steady him.

   ‘Woah, woah,’ Punk said, grabbing Colt by the shoulders. ‘You alright?’

     ‘Yeah,’ Colt said, scrunching his eyes shut and shaking his head. ‘Must have stood up too quick. Had a dizzy spell. I’m good now, though.’

     ‘I said it to Finn and I’ll say it to you too – take it easy. We need you fit and healthy in order to get out of this cesspit.’

     ‘Got it,’ Colt smiled weakly back.

     ‘You idiots deaf or something!’ Mizanin yelled from outside the gate. ‘Back to work! NOW!’

     ‘Come on, let’s go before he blows a gasket,’ Colt joked. He stopped when he noted the worried expression on his best friend’s face. ‘I promise, I’m alright.’

     The three friends continued their hard labour as the afternoon hours ploughed ahead. The sun above them grew stronger and stronger and soon, with the sweat gushing from their pores, they each felt dehydration take a strangle hold of their bodies. They tried their best to ignore the dryness in their throats and the fog in their brains as their time started to run out and they could see how much work they still needed to complete in order to receive their tokens for the day. They needed a final push, one burst of energy, but their own energy was depleting rapidly and they were getting slower as exhaustion set in.

     ‘There’s no way we can do this,’ Finn forced out between each gasp of breath.

     Punk’s own chest was heaving now, the words ‘Straight Edge’ across his abdomen contracting and stretching in time with his diaphragm. ‘We can, we just need to-‘

    ‘Punk,’ Colt placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder to get his attention. Punk turned around and was shocked to see how pale Colt’s face had gone all of a sudden. ‘I don’t…. I feel really-‘ Colt’s eyes rolled to the back of his sockets and his body fell away beneath him, slamming hard against the compacted earth.

     ‘Colt! COLT!’ Punk crouched down, frantically shaking his friend to try and rouse him from his stupour. Finn instantly dropped his shovel and grabbed Colt’s wrist.

     ‘His pulse is racing,’ Finn told Punk. ‘Sunstroke – we need to get him some water straight away.’

     ‘HEY NEWBIES!’ Mizanin shouted out behind them. ‘HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU! GET! BACK! TO-‘

     ‘Our friend’s passed out,’ Punk said, running up to the gates. ‘We need water. _Now!_ ’ He pointed to Mizanin’s canister sitting next to his chair.

     ‘You can’t have my water,’ Mizanin scoffed, clearly offended by the upstart newbie, ‘use your own.’

     ‘We don’t have any,’ Punk shot back. ‘You assholes never gave us any tokens when we arrived.’

     ‘Not my problem,’ Mizanin said with an air of arrogance. Punk was riled up already but the selfish attitude of the guard inflamed his wrath up to 11.

     ‘Listen here, you worthless piece of shit,’ Punk roared, gripping the wire gate and shaking it furiously. ‘My best friend is lying over there, unconscious, because you motherfuckers grabbed us off the streets, took everything we had off of us and locked us up in here with nothing more than these rags on our back. We’ve had to go cold last night, hungry this morning and now we’ve worked out fucking asses off all day under the blazing sun without even a fucking bottle of fucking water and you have the gall to look me in the eye and tell me it’s not your problem. This whole fucking set up is your fucking problem.’

     ‘Punk,’ Finn called out behind him, but it fell on dead ears.

     ‘That idiot Michaels said that the American Dream still lives in this dump?’ Punk continued, flexing his rage further. ‘Dude, the American Dream is dead. It died almost two years ago along with America herself. Have you even been out of this city? Have you seen the devastation, the turmoil? My city is gone. I walked through its bones and they were still smoking, even a year later.’

     ‘Punk!’

   ‘This isn’t the American Dream,’ Punk seethed, spittle flying between his gritted teeth. ‘This is a farce. A way to keep you lot in power, living like fat cats off of the blood and sweat of those beneath you, forced to work like slaves and fight for the scraps while living in fear each and every day. Well here’s a newflash for you, motherfucker. I’m not scared of you. I don’t fear you and I will never, ever fall to you. So before, I break this flimsy, little door down and come out there and punch you in the throat, give me your FUCKING WATER!!!’

     ‘PUNK!’

     Finally, Punk turned around to face Finn. The Irishman was kneeling down next to Colt, holding him steady as water was splashed across his face to help wake him up. Punk was taken aback as he recognised Sami as the man who had come to their rescue, using his own measly water supply to selflessly help Colt. On seeing the brave act before him, all of Punk’s anger subsided and he rushed over to join the efforts.

     Had he turned around, even once before he dashed away he would have seen Mizanin, standing still and pale, frozen in place with shock. He would have seen the dozens and dozens of faces peering out from underneath the foliage of the garden, each watching with wide-eyed wonder at the scene they had just witnessed. He would have seen the awe on each of their hollow features.

     Finally, Mizanin found himself again and noticing all of the eyes on him, he ground his teeth together angrily and ordered them all back to work. He stomped back to his chair and slammed down onto the metal, humiliation and anger swarming around him like wasps.

     Punk didn’t see any of this. He was far too focused on Colt and when his friend’s eyes finally opened, he heaved a large sigh of relief. Sami held the bottle of water to Colt’s lips and he guzzled down its contents eagerly. Once he’d had his fill he smiled up at the three men.

   ‘Sorry about that,’ he croaked out.

     ‘Don’t be,’ Punk scolded lightly. ‘Come on, buddy, let’s get you back into the shade.’

     ‘But the plot, our target,’ Colt began to argue.

     ‘Forget it,’ Punk warned him sternly. ‘We’ll get it done. You just rest, alright?’

     Colt relented and all three men helped drag him back over to the shadowy area underneath the imposing wall. Sami left him the bottle of water after offering a sip to Punk and Finn who both quenched their parched throats with enthusiasm.

     ‘Thank you,’ Punk said to Sami as they made their way back to their tools. ‘What you did was -‘

     ‘I couldn’t stand by and watch,’ Sami admitted.

     ‘But what about the guards?’ Punk asked. ‘What will they do-?

     ‘I’ll take care of it,’ Sami reassured him. ‘Mizanin is a bit of a dick but he’s not the worst guy around here. Plus it looks like he’s still a little shaken by what you said to him. That was some speech by the way.’

     Punk scratched his fingers through his hair. ‘I can’t even remember what I said,’ he confessed. ‘I was just… so angry…’

     ‘Good,’ Sami replied. ‘Not enough people here are angry.’ Punk looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to decipher what he meant by that when Sami quickly changed the subject. ‘We’ve got just under two hours to get this plot finished or we won’t get paid. With one of us down, it’s gonna be a lot harder but we’ll manage it. Just… follow my lead, ok?’

     ‘Sure thing,’ Punk replied with a grin.

     Punk and Finn took up their tools and allowed Sami to set the pace. They had to admit he did his part well. Used to the searing heat and the intense labour, he was clipping along at a nice tempo, even showing up their collective efforts earlier and although it was demanding, it was effective and seeing this pushed them on. By the time the sun began to sink lower in the sky, Colt felt ready to join them again and with one last surge, they ploughed the final section of the plot. They each leaned on their tools, catching their breath and admiring their work when the gate to the allotment opened and they found Batista standing in the doorway, Mizanin lingering behind him like a simpering weasel.

     ‘Very good,’ he said, looking around the area with approval. ‘Excellent work, newbies, you will fit in very nicely here at Eden.’ He held out his hand in the air towards Punk, who looked over to Sami for confirmation. Sami nodded his head and Punk placed his hand beneath Batista’s. Ten coins came tumbling out of the larger man’s fist and landed with a clank in Punk’s palm. He grabbed at them greedily while Batista dolled out the same amount to the rest of the group. ‘You’re dismissed for today,’ Batista said, motioning for them to exit the plot. ‘I expect the same results tomorrow.’

     The group of four walked back down the pathway, joined every so often by workers from the others sections as they returned to the prison building. Punk stared down at the coins in his hand.

     ‘Scared they’ll disappear?’ Sami asked beside him, once again juggling all four tools in his arms.

     ‘I just haven’t seen nickels and dimes in so long,’ Punk admitted.

     ‘They’re each worth the same amount,’ Sami told him. ‘Meal’s cost three tokens, bottles of water are one token. If you spend them wisely you can save up for things like a blanket or pillow, candles, matches, even a new shirt. Not that, you’ll be needing them, I suppose, once we get out of here.’

     ‘We?’ Punk queried the younger man.

     ‘We need to return our tools,’ Sami said and, grabbing Punk’s shoulder, steered him away from the crowd and down a side path. Once he was sure they were safely alone, Sami whispered ‘I’m in.’

     ‘Really?’ Punk raised an eyebrow. ‘But before, you were-‘

     ‘Scared,’ Sami finished for him. ‘Petrified in fact. And you know something, I’m so sick and tired of being scared. I wasn’t always like this. Before I would bend the rules, take a risk here and there, then Bayley disappeared…’ he paused and Punk waited for him to continue. ‘But knowing she’s alive and she broke free and she’s out there somewhere, that’s the most incredible thing. Or at least, it was until I saw you confront Mizanin.’

     ‘That was stupid,’ Punk scolded himself. ‘The plan was to keep a low profile but so far not a single one of us has managed to keep our cool.’

     ‘This place has that effect on people,’ Sami shrugged. ‘Also, never apologise for what you said earlier. Look around you. Look at the faces of everyone that lives here. They’re worn out, they’re tired, they’ve lost all sense of hope. Like me, they’re all scared. But for once, they watched someone speak up, spitting venom and not caring about the consequences. Do you have any idea how amazing it was to see The Miz scared for once?’

     ‘The Miz?’ Punk queried.

     Sami blinked his eyes as a smile crept across his face. ‘I haven’t called him that in months,’ he said softly. ‘It’s what Bayley and I used to call him, behind his back though, never to his face. Bayley recogonised him, you see. He wanted to be a pro wrestler just like her and had entered this reality TV show to gain exposure. One of those cringe-fests where everybody thinks their God’s gift to the world and they get drunk and get into fights and stuff. Anyway, he called himself The Miz on this show but he’s really trying to distance himself from that now. Only Bayley and I seemed to know about it.’ He looked down for a moment and smiled sadly. ‘It was those little moments that kept you going.’

     ‘You and Bayls were close, huh?’ Punk asked.

     ‘She was the only one who kept me going in this place,’ Sami clarified. ‘I guess I lost my way a bit after she disappeared.’

     ‘She’s an incredible woman.’ Against his will, his mind flashed up an image of April and the smile vanished from his face. ‘About my rant earlier – will there be consequences? I can’t afford to be locked up in solitary. Not if this plan’s gonna work.’

     ‘The Miz talks the big talk but he’s a coward beneath it all,’ Sami reassured him. ‘If it gets out how he lost control of the situation and didn’t even punish you for it, it’ll make him look bad. I bet he won’t even report it.’ He saw the hesitation in the Chicago native’s stance. ‘If you’re really worried,’ he said, his voice hesitant, ‘I can find out for sure. Ask around and see if I hear anything through the grapevine.’

     ‘That’s alright, you really don’t have to-‘ Punk began to say but Sami put up his hand.

     ‘Like I said before, I’m in,’ he said defiantly. ‘Your friend, uh Finn, he said you have people here you’re trying to find.’

     ‘Yeah,’ Punk said with a sigh. ‘Does the name April Mendez ring a bell for you?’

     Sami thought for a moment then shook his head. ‘No, sorry,’ he admitted sadly, ‘but I’ll do everything I can to help you guys find her. All I ask is one thing in return. Can I come with you?’

     ‘Goes without saying,’ Punk smiled at the red head. ‘Good to have you onboard.’ He stuck out his hand and Sami eagerly accepted it.

     ‘Wow! This is so exciting,’ Sami gushed, unable to control his exuberance anymore.

     Punk smiled back but a flash of something caught the corner of his eye and his face dropped like a stone from a fifty-story building. Suddenly everything around him disappeared into smoke as his eye followed the entity.

     ‘Hey, you alright there?’ Sami inquired. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

     A ghost! Yes, it was certainly a ghost.

     ‘Gotta go,’ Punk said sharply and dashed after the spirit. He became swept up in the sea of workers, the waves holding him back. He desperately looked ahead and caught a glimpse of the spectre, each strand of soft brown hair sparkling in the dying sunlight, ringing her head like a halo. She was getting further away from him, he noted and desperation gripped his heart and squeezed.

     ‘APE!’ he screamed and tried to force his way through the melee. ‘APRIL! APE!’

     The tide swept past him, blocking his view and once it had subsided again, the small head of brown hair was nowhere to be seen.

    

     Back in the main building, Finn and Colt were joyfully stuffing their faces with food they had bought with their hard-earned tokens. Finally, Punk wandered over with his own plateful.

     ‘You guys couldn’t have waited a few measly minutes,’ he questioned the pair.

     ‘We knew you would be fine,’ Finn replied with a shrug. Colt’s mouth was too stuffed to speak.

     ‘Sami’s gonna help us,’ Punk told the pair.

     ‘How did you wrangle that?’ Finn asked him.

     ‘I think my outburst earlier got to him,’ Punk said. ‘About that, how you feeling now, buddy?’

     Colt was still trying to subdue the food in his mouth so he made do with giving Punk a thumbs-up.

     ‘I’d say that’s a win for today,’ Finn said, as he swallowed the last of his meal before leaning back in his chair and stretching. ‘You want to make it two for two.’

     ‘What do you mean?’ Punk asked. Finn simply smiled back and motioned with his thumb behind him. Punk followed the digit and found Roman Reigns sitting with his back to them several tables over. ‘Awwww,’ he said and slumped his shoulders.

     ‘What, what is it?’ Colt asked, his mouth finally free of food. He stood up slightly to make out where they were looking.

     ‘No time like the present,’ Finn smiled cheekily at him.

     ‘Ah, right,’ Colt smirked as he finally found Reigns. ‘Good luck with that, buddy.’

     ‘We’re _all_ going!’ Punk told them stiffly. ‘Just let me eat first.’

     ‘Of course, enjoy. Could be your last meal,’ Finn taunted. Colt snorted a laugh and almost choked on a piece of potato. When he had recovered enough he reached over to Finn and the pair of them fist-bumped while Punk glared at them both.

     ‘You guys suck,’ he grumbled.

    

     Roman Reigns sat alone, Punk noted, as he and his companions gingerly approached the huge Samoan from behind. The spaces at the table beside him and opposite were empty as if the occupants of Eden were purposely avoiding the man. Punk could only speculate why.

     He froze a few steps away from the Shield member, repeating the speech he had been practicing during his meal over and over. His concentration was broken by Colt’s finger fiercely nudging him in the back. He spun around and stared daggers at his best friend who was urging him on.

     Punk took one last, deep breath and marched up to Reigns’ table and parked himself in the bench opposite. The Samoan never looked up from his plate.

     ‘I was wonderin’ when you would grow a pair and some see me,’ Reigns said back, flatly.

     ‘You knew we were here?’ Punk asked, stunned.

     ‘Saw you being escorted in last night,’ he said, keeping his gaze down. ‘Your friends not gonna join us?’

     Punk looked up and motioned to Colt and Finn to come over. They sat on either side of the Straight Edge Saviour as Reigns glanced up briefly before focusing back on his plate.

     ‘So you’re here to bust me out?’ Reigns asked as he picked up a handful of salad leaves.

     ‘Uh yeah… how did you-?’ Punk replied as Reigns ripped the leaves apart with his teeth. The sound was loud and unsettling. The group went quiet, listening to the large man crunching as he eyed each of them up again. In that moment, they felt like children facing a large tiger at the zoo, unsure what was going on behind those amber eyes and starting to worry if they glass panel between them was strong enough. ‘A little bird found me on my shift today. Filled me in.’

     ‘Seth… he told you about the deal we’ve struck?’ Punk enquired.

     Reigns strong jaw tore through a raw carrot, the sound resembling that of a bone snapping. ‘What happened to you?’ Reigns said, looking over to Finn for a second.

     ‘You don’t recognise your own brother’s work?’ Finn snarled back.

     ‘He didn’t mention that,’ Reigns noted before fixing a knowing glance at Finn. ‘You won?’

     ‘I did,’ Finn’s voice rumbled.

   Reigns scoffed. ‘And you let him live?’

     ‘I’m a changed man,’ Finn replied, showing no fear as he stared back at the much larger man.

     ‘Bullshit,’ Reigns spat.

     ‘Can we get back to point here,’ Punk said, bravely stepping in between the two predators. ‘Did Seth tell you about our deal?’

     ‘He did,’ Reigns said, returning his gaze down to his plate. ‘You get us out of here and the bounty is lifted from your heads.’ Punk nodded in response. ‘What do you need me to do?’

     Punk stood dumbfounded. ‘What? That’s it?’

     ‘Chasing you guys is getting old,’ Reigns returned.

     ‘I don’t believe you,’ Colt chimed in.

     ‘I don’t care if you believe me or not,’ Reigns retorted.

     ‘How do we know we can trust you?’ Punk challenged the big man.

     ‘You don’t,’ Reigns uttered. Finally, he raised his head to look at them properly. For the first time, they could clearly make out the Samoan’s face and they each noted the nasty bruises he sported down his left cheek. In that moment, it all made sense.

     ‘You don’t care what it takes,’ Punk spoke for Reigns, ‘you just want out of here.’ Reigns said nothing, only stared back at Punk with his jaw set.

     ‘Where’s Ambrose?’ Colt asked, hesitation evident in his voice. Reigns’ silent gaze turned to face Colt and he abruptly wished he could take back his words.

     ‘I don’t know,’ Reigns replied. ‘Five days in, he vanished. It’s quite common, apparently.’

     ‘I’ve heard that too,’ Finn noted aside to Punk and Colt.

     ‘What happened?’ Punk inquired.

     ‘Not sure,’ Reigns answered. ‘He was there in the morning and gone by the evening.’

     ‘Is he still here in Eden?’

     Reigns only shrugged.

     ‘Where else would they take him?’

     Reigns shrugged again. To the untrained eye, it would seem he didn’t care about his brother-in-arms but Punk could read between the lines. He was hiding his immense anger behind that stoic mask.

     ‘We’ll find him,’ Punk said to Reigns.

     ‘I’ve tried,’ Reigns told him, pointing to the bruises on his cheek. ‘Got me nowhere.’

     ‘I’m looking for someone too,’ Punk admitted. ‘I’ll find them both.’

     ‘You won’t.’

     ‘I will!’ Punk leaned in close. ‘I swear by my mark.’

     ‘Your mark?’ Reigns cocked an eyebrow.

     ‘It’s more significant than it sounds,’ Punk replied. ‘You’re just gonna have to trust _me_ on that.’

     A sliver of a smile appeared on Reigns’ lips for a second before it vanished once more. ‘Fine,’ he said.

     ‘In the meantime, tell us what you know about this place,’ Punk said, leaning in to try and keep prying ears from overhearing their conversation. ‘The more we know, the better.’

 

     After their talk with Roman Reigns, the three men headed up to Colt and Finn’s cell to discuss the day’s findings before curfew set in. As soon as they entered the dull, dank room, Finn eased himself down onto his bunk, grunting as he clutched his searing ribcage. As soon as he was flat on his back, he let out a sigh of relief.

     ‘That better?’ Colt asked the Irishman with a grin.

     ‘Better,’ Finn confirmed, ‘not perfect, but better.’

     ‘We’ll probably be doing the same task tomorrow,’ Punk warned him. Finn only replied with a wince. ‘Take it easier then, ok? Have a break whenever you need, don’t exert yourself too much. We managed fine without Colt for a while today, we can do the same with you.’

     ‘Thanks,’ Finn croaked out.

     ‘So, today we learnt…’ Colt tried to find the right words.

     ‘Nothing,’ Punk finished for him. ‘We don’t know any more than when we came in. I was really hoping Reigns’ had something more useful for us.’ The Samoan had mainly spoken of his capture and his investigation into Dean’s whereabouts.

     ‘He’s our way of communicating with Seth and Luci though,’ Colt noted. Reigns was on heavy labour duty which took place outside of the camp, hence why Seth had been able to talk to him. The division was meant for the larger, stronger men, mainly to wear them down and quell any rebellious nature in them. Ambrose had also been part of the team, tasked with demolishing parts of nearby buildings to provide bricks for use in Eden before carrying the heavy loads back to the Garden. Punk had jumped on that fact and assigned Reigns the task of telling them as much about the surrounding area as he could as well as the exterior of the wall, how many guards were posted on duty and which exits they used to get outside the prison.

     ‘And we now have two allies instead of none,’ Finn pointed out from his bunk.

     ‘They’re shaky truces at best,’ Punk warned them. ‘I trust Reigns as far as I can throw him and Sami could change his mind at the first sign of danger. If this is to work, we need to do most of the legwork ourselves.’

     ‘How?’ Finn said, turning his head to look at the Chicago native. ‘We’re up at dawn, work most of the day and after we eat at night, there’s only an hour or so before curfew. How are we going to fit this legwork in?’

     ‘We just have to,’ Punk told him. ‘Or else, we’re stuck here for good.’

     They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Punk jumped to his feet but relaxed on seeing Sami enter the cell.

     ‘Ah, here you are,’ he greeted the group. ‘I did that digging you asked for.’

     ‘And?’ Punk asked, hesitantly.

     ‘Mizanin’s keeping quiet,’ Sami informed them. ‘Word is he’s skulking around like a scolded teenager. Think you scared him a bit.’

     ‘Good,’ Punk snorted, ‘gives those assholes a taste of their own medicine.’

     ‘I’ll keep an ear out for any other news,’ Sami said, as he made his way to the door. ‘About Mizanin, or about April.’

     ‘Thank you, Sami,’ Punk said with a warm smile. As soon as the redhead was out of the room and away, Punk patted Finn on his uninjured knee. ‘Good job getting him onboard.’

     ‘I only did so because he was Bayley’s friend,’ Finn replied with a slight blush to his cheek. ‘She’s a good judge of character,’

     ‘We’ve literally just spoken about how impossible it is to fit in the legwork we need to form a plan,’ Colt noted. ‘Sami seems to have a way of knowing things around here and can find out any information for us. We need a guy like that on our side.’

     ‘It’ll help,’ Punk said with a warning tone in his voice. ‘But we’ve still got a lot of work to do if we’re to pull this off.’

     ‘You’re right about that,’ Finn conceded, ‘this is a whole new jungle with a whole new set of rules. We might have to adapt our thinking, break a few principles even, to get ahead in this place.’

     Finn’s words hung in the air, heavy in the silence.


	42. Closing In

     The morning routine passed the same as the day before except this time, Punk and his companions were able to enjoy their breakfast. Well, ‘enjoy’ was too strong a term. The oatmeal was stale and water had been used to thicken the porridge instead of milk but it filled their bellies enough for the day ahead. They loaded up on two water bottles each before heading out and suddenly they found they only had two tokens left to their name. All that work with little payout! Just another way for The Authority (as Sami called them) to lessen the morale of Eden’s ‘citizens’.

     Once out into the garden, they located Mizanin and went to receive their tasks for the day. Punk noticed the guard fidgeting nervously as he spotted the Chicago native approaching him, confirming Sami’s description of him. The man was a coward beneath all of that bravado – this was only strengthened by the fact that Punk had received no repercussions for his outburst the day before. The former wrestler wasn’t sure whether to loathe or feel pity for the man.

     ‘Where do you want us today?’ Punk asked, watching the beads of sweat pooling on The Miz’s forehead.

     ‘Uh, yeah. Follow me.’ Mizanin lead the way down the path until they were almost at the same spot they were at the day before. He opened up a gate that led into a rich vineyard, the boughs of the lush plants heaving with round, ripe tomatoes. There were already a handful of citizens tending to the vines by watering them, pruning any dead leaves and fixing their supports.

     ‘Josie!’ Mizanin called out to the gardeners and a woman a few years older than Punk raised her head. ‘Over here.’ She walked over gingerly, as if expecting a punishment but when she saw the three men in navy jumpsuits matching her own, she only became more confused.

     ‘Sir?’ she asked Mizanin, her voice emotionless.

     ‘Got some pickers for you. Show them the ropes.’

     ‘Yes, sir,’ she replied in the same monotonous voice.

     ‘Good,’ he nodded back and made a beeline for the gate, almost tripping over a bucket in his haste to leave. Josie went to grab the fallen bucket but Colt beat her to it. He handed over the fallen article and she accepted it with uncertainty.

     ‘Thanks,’ she said, her sentiment genuine yet without a glimpse of a smile on her face. Her dark features were hollow as if every positive emotion had been sucked out of her entirely. Her frame was almost skeletal, her stick-like forearms protruded from the oversized uniform she wore, only enhancing the effect. Her cheeks and eyes were sunken in and her hair had lost all of its volume; all signs of malnourishment.

     It was the first time that the three men had truly seen a citizen of Eden. Reigns had only arrived a few weeks ago and still maintained his previous health, Sami (as demonstrated by his skill yesterday as well as the extra luxury items in his possession) clearly reached his targets enough each day to sustain himself, but here was somebody on the other end of the spectrum. Someone who struggled through each day, who used up more than she received and who was slowly dying of starvation and the strain of overwork. Standing next to them she looked like a waif compared to the three men who still bore the fruits of proper meals and rest. Their hearts broke for her. A quick glance around the plot told them that she was not the only poor soul in the place and finally Punk understood Sami’s words yesterday.

     _Not enough people here are angry._

How could they be? They were too ground down and exhausted to be angry. Too worn out to feel anything. They were trapped in a never ending loop of hard labour and hunger pangs in their stomach, the numbness in their limbs and the ache in their back. Their freedom was gone, their will was gone. Every emotion and sentiment had been extinguished from their soul a long time ago and now their only inevitability was death, a sweet release that many of the desperate among them craved but even then, were too scared to achieve.

     ‘How can we help?’ Punk asked Josie, his voice soft, afraid his breath alone would knock the tiny woman off her feet.

     ‘The tomatoes,’ she said, indicating the vines behind them, ‘they need collected.’ She went to pick up the other buckets when Colt once again beat her to the punch, lifting the metal items up into his arms and gently taking the one she held from her. He smiled at her, trying to put the young woman at ease but it did little to change her ragged features. She merely turned and walked to the nearest vine, the three men following behind her. ‘See, ones like this are ready,’ she said, showing them a large, juicy fruit bulging out from its stock. ‘If it’s ripe, it should come away quite easily. If not, just leave it to ripen a bit more. We need the whole field done today.’

     ‘Leave it to us,’ Punk assured her.

     ‘Oh and whatever you do, do not even attempt to eat or take any of the fruit for yourself? It is forbidden. We will all be watching you.’ The warning was emphasized by the look of terror in her eyes. It told them the message beneath her statement – that any misdeeds would bring punishment to the whole group.

     ‘You can trust us,’ Punk tried to placate her but she only sighed wearily and walked away to continue her own work, leaving the three men to their task.

     The morning went easier than the day before now that their chore was less physically taxing and they could combat the sweltering heat with their water bottles, however it was far more somber. They each worked a different section of vines and while this helped them cover more ground, it also meant they were unable to talk to one another most of the day. Colt tried to rally some conversation with the other citizens but they refused to engage, the best he got out of them was a few sideway glances filled with suspicion.

     Break time was called and the three men regrouped. The small sliver of shade by the wall was already occupied by the entrenched workers so Punk and his companions sat beneath the leafy vines of the tomato plants.

     ‘How you coping today?’ Punk asked Finn, who was sitting opposite from him and Colt.

     ‘Better,’ he replied. ‘In fact, I’d almost enjoy it if the atmosphere in here wasn’t so… morose.’

     ‘I don’t know what exactly morose means,’ interjected Colt, ‘but I know what you’re getting at. You can actually feel everyone’s depression in here.’

     ‘These people are at the end of their rope,’ Punk agreed. ‘They’re desperate but there’s no hope in sight. The sooner we get Ape out of here, the better.’

     ‘It feels wrong,’ Colt sighed, ‘that we’re only helping a couple of people when everyone here needs help.’

     ‘That’s the best we can do,’ Punk shrugged. ‘There’s only three of us – we can’t right the wrongs of this place on our own.’

     The order was given that break time was over and the three friends groaned as they pulled themselves back up to their feet. ‘Is it me or was that shorter than yesterday,’ Colt noted aloud.

     Work resumed while the suffocating atmosphere squeezed tighter around them. As the three men progressed through their designated sections, they found themselves further apart than before. Finn’s section brought him right to the top of the vineyard, far away from Punk and Colt, with only their freshly tilled field from yesterday lurking beyond the wire mesh behind him as his companion. Normally he enjoyed a spot of isolation and quietness but with the uneasy aura of the Garden, the last thing he wanted was to be left alone at that moment in time.

     He crouched down, hissing slightly as he shifted his leg into a better position, in order to harvest the lower boughs of the vineyard when he heard voices coming towards him. He picked out Josie’s voice at first and dismissed it, thinking she was only coming to tend to her plants when the second voice struck his eardrums. ‘So, have you thought anymore about what I said?’ the deep, masculine voice boomed.

     Carter! Finn’s heart leapt in his chest and he crouched closer to the ground, camouflaging himself into the shadows of the shrubbery. His keen eyes penetrated the foliage and he found the pair as they headed towards the furthest corner of the plot for some privacy, completely unaware that they were being watched.

     ‘I told you already, no!’ Josie replied with her arms crossed across her chest, her tiny frame hunched over. Finn noted the way Carter loomed over her, his arm clenched around her shoulder. He grasped a handful of her jumpsuit in his hand, telling Finn that she was here talking to him against her will. It made his stomach lurch and while the monster inside him was flaring up, screeching at him to intervene, he forced himself to sit still and listen carefully.

   ‘Now don’t go being hasty, Jos,’ Carter said. His voice was soft but clearly he was patronising her, knowing full well he was going to get what he wanted out of the encounter.

     ‘We’re doing just fine, we don’t-‘

     ‘Josie, Josie, Josie,’ Carter sighed, shaking his head. He rounded on her, penning her up against the mammoth wall surrounding the compound. ‘Now, you know and I know that your team hasn’t been hitting its targets for some time now and as team leader, that falls on you. Already your people are worn out, tired, hungry. They need some slack. I’m the guard in charge here and as much as it would get me in some bother with the bosses, I’m sure I could-.’ She went to speak but he wagged his finger in her face. ‘Ah-ah, don’t interrupt me. As I was saying, I’m sure I could be a little more lenient, maybe set some more manageable targets-‘

     ‘It’s your ridiculous targets that got us into this mess in the first place!’ Josie shot at him. She let out a yelp as he grabbed her roughly by the lapels.

     ‘Don’t test me, Josie,’ Carter growled in her face. ‘I’m trying to be nice here but if you keep spitting in my face here, I’ll have to turn nasty. Now, stop being so selfish. Think of the men and women you have in your team over there. Think of their empty bellies. You’d really choose your pride over their welfare.’

     ‘Please, Carter, please just-‘

     ‘One time is all I’m asking. One quick, little fumble where no-one else can see.’ His fingers reached up to the zip of her jumpsuit.

     Finn had seen enough. He stood up, bursting out from his hiding place. ‘Is there a problem here?’ he declared his presence loudly and both Carter and Josie jumped a mile at the sudden appearance of another body.

     ‘Pretty Boy,’ Carter sneered as he overcame his shock. ‘Mind your own business and get back to work.’

     ‘Is this guy bothering you?’ Finn asked Josie directly.

     ‘No, _you’re_ the one bothering us,’ Carter shot back. ‘Come on Jos, let’s go talk somewhere more private.’ He made a sudden grab for her arm, his grip so brutal that she cried out in pain.

     Finn moved as fast as lightning, dashing to the edge of the vineyard and blocking any means of escape for the guard.

   ‘Come on now, don’t make me get the hose again.’ Carter warned but Finn stood firm, unfazed by the guard’s taunting. The grin vanished from Carter’s face. ‘Seriously, get out of my face. This has nothing to do with you.’

     ‘Let her go,’ Finn said, his voice a guttural growl.    

     ‘I won’t say it again. Out of my way!’ Josie screamed again as Carter just about wrenched her arm from her socket. Hearing her cry out, Finn rushed forward towards the pair. The sudden speed of the Irishman spooked the much taller guard and instinctively he released his grip on Josie’s arm and stumbled back out of harm’s way. Finn stayed close to Josie, shielding her with his body as Carter’s cold, grey eyes locked onto Finn’s blue ones, the pair staring each other down with such menace that the atmosphere around them felt almost charged. Finally, after several tense seconds, the snide grin returned to Carter’s face and he chuckled wryly as he composed himself.

     ‘Keep your panties on, Pretty Boy, I get the message,’ he smirked as he made to leave, ‘I’m going.’ He started to head down the hill when he spotted something to his right; Finn’s buckets, filled with the tomatoes he had been collecting all day. Without a single backward glance he booted them with all of his might sending the fruits of Finn’s labour sprawling across the floor.

     ‘Oops,’ he scoffed as he walked over the red fruit, squashing them to pulp under his boots before he retreated. Finn watched him like a hawk until the guard was safely out of sight.

     ‘You ok?’ Finn turned around to face Josie. She had collapsed back against the wall cradling her arm where bruises were already showing through her dark skin. ‘Hey, do you need some water or-‘

     ‘Why did you do that?’ Josie shot at him angrily. He staggered back, completely taken by surprise.

     ‘I was only trying to help,’ Finn said.

     ‘Help?’ Josie scoffed. ‘You’ve just gone and made things even worse. As if he wasn’t making our lives hell as it is, you go and hurt his pride? What do you think he’ll do to us now?’

     ‘I couldn’t just stand by and watch him treat you like that?’ Finn argued.

     Josie shook her head with a dry laugh. ‘No, of course you couldn’t. You and your loud, obnoxious friends,’ she shot a look to Punk and Colt further down the field. ‘You lot need to learn your place and how your actions affect the rest of us.’

     ‘We do what’s right,’ Finn said defiantly.

     ‘Stupid, naive little boys,’ Josie spat, ‘trying to play heroes. You wanna do what’s right? Then stay the hell away from me.’

     She pushed past Finn, her tiny frame like a feather shoving a brick wall. Finn watched her as she made her way back down the field, a cacophony of feelings swirling around his head. He sighed loudly and went to salvage what he could of his pickings.

 

     The collective efforts of the three newcomers yielded positive results and they gathered the entire vineyard’s ripe bounty together with time to spare. On Josie’s orders, they carted the metal buckets, now overflowing with red fruit, over to a small cart and deposited them. As Finn loaded up his portion, Punk noted how little he had compared to the rest of them and furrowed his eyebrows. He dismissed it with a shrug – perhaps Finn’s section was still waiting to ripen.

     The signal sounded for the end of the working day and everyone headed for the gate. Punk poured water over his sweltering head, taking a giant glug as his tokens were placed into his hand. Ten, he counted, same as yesterday. Now that he was off-duty and had been safely paid, Punk’s mind turned to one thing and one thing only.

     ‘Meet you guys back at the mess hall,’ Punk said over his shoulder.

     ‘Yeah sure, but-‘ Colt never finished his sentence as Punk rushed off at a speed of knots. ‘Where’s he going?’ he mused to himself. His thoughts were disturbed by a commotion behind him and he turned to see Finn staring down the tall, blonde guard.

     ‘Where’s the rest of it?’ Finn asked, his voice dark.

     ‘You only handed in a fraction of your quota today,’ Carter replied coolly, a slight grin at the corner of his lips. ‘So you only get a fraction of your wages.’

     This time it was Finn’s turn to smirk and he let out a hollow chuckle. ‘So that’s how this game works, huh?’

     ‘Hey, what’s going on?’ Colt interjected.

     ‘Tell your friend here if he wants to get paid like everybody else, he needs to do the same work as everybody else,’ Carter said to Colt with a shrug.

    ‘You’ve only given him three tokens,’ Colt spluttered on seeing the measly offering in Finn’s palm.

     ‘That’s equivalent to the amount of product he brought in,’ Carter shrugged again.

     ‘But he’s worked the whole day, same as me and Punk,’ Colt argued. ‘We finished our task.’

     ‘Yes, _you_ did’ Carter replied, ‘you and your tattooed friend. Far as I could see, all that foreigner did was slack off.’

     ‘Foreigner,’ Finn growled, his expression loaded with venom.

     ‘That’s not true and you know it,’ Colt shot back at the guard. ‘Give him the rest of his tokens.’

     ‘What colour is your shirt?’ Carter asked Colt suddenly.

     ‘Um… what?’ Colt replied.

     ‘What colour is your shirt?’ the guard repeated.

     ‘I don’t understand…’

     ‘You thick or something? Your shirt, this thing right here,’ Carter yanked hard on the lapel of Colt’s jumpsuit. ‘What colour is it?’

     ‘Uhh… blue? Navy, I guess?’

   ‘Interesting,’ the tall blonde said, mockingly. ‘So it’s not this khaki colour?’

     ‘What’s this gotta do with Finn-?’

     ‘So that means that you are not a guard,’ Carter sneered. ‘You’re just a citizen, and citizens don’t give the orders. _I_ do! I expect everybody to do their share and if I see someone slacking, I don’t pay ‘em.’

     ‘See his leg?’ Colt quarreled, pointing to the brace wrapped around the Irishman’s shin. ‘That’s not for show. He’s also got broken ribs and all this hard labour aint doing him any good, but he’s still out here busting his ass all day.’

     ‘Awww, the pretty boy’s got a boo-boo,’ Carter said with a mock pout. ‘I still don’t care. You get hurt, you don’t work, you don’t get paid. It’s the same for everybody else. Why should I give him special treatment?’

     ‘You just expect those who get ill or injured to starve?’ Colt butted in, sickened to his very core.

     ‘We expect citizens to earn their keep,’ Carter shot back. ‘We’ve no interest in carrying around dead weight.’

     ‘You calling Finn dead weight?’ Colt exclaimed and felt a sudden urge to throw his fist right into the guard’s face. ‘You have no idea what he’s capable of. He’s an asset, everywhere he goes.’

     ‘I’m sorry,’ Carter said, jutting out his bottom lip. ‘Did I hurt your feelings?’

     Colt could feel the anger boiling up in him. The unfair balance of power in this place irked him no end and to see how little those in charge cared about their worker’s health and wellbeing made his blood curdle.

     ‘Colt.’ Finn placed his hand on the Chicago native’s shoulder. ‘Forget it, let’s go.’

   ‘Not without your tokens,’ Colt said.

     ‘Colt, just leave it,’ Finn insisted. ‘This arsehole isn’t worth our time.’

     It was so out of character for the Irishman to back down like this that it took Colt by surprise. One look at the younger man and Colt could see he was agitated and all he wanted was to get away from the situation. Colt obliged and admitted defeat.

     ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Let’s go get something to eat.’

     They turned to walk away back to the main building when the guard cleared his throat to get their attention.

   ‘I know you’re new here,’ the guard told them, ‘so I’d better tell you that sharing tokens or any food bought with your tokens is strictly illegal. I’ll be watching you guys and if you give any handouts to your foreign friend, you will be punished.’

    ‘Got it,’ Colt said, poison dripping from his words.

 

     Running on feet made out of springs, Punk dashed down the path, masterfully dodging groups of workers as they began to seep out from the various sections and make their way back to the main building. In no time at all, he had reached the intersection where the path split off, one way leading to the men’s quarters in Wing A, the other leading to the women’s quarters in Wing B.

     He was the first to arrive, much to his delight and he stood exactly where the road split, unable to stop himself from bouncing nervously on the soles of his feet. His mind was racing with elation and excitement, his heart kept doing backflips as he pictured the moment he would see her again, making her way towards him through the throng of the crowd, how their eyes would meet. He smiled like a goof as he thought about her reaction, her amazement that he was alive after all this time. For once, he had no doubts, no voice at the back of his head warning him that things may not go the way he hoped for. He was brimming with possibility and felt like a kid on Christmas morning, knowing that Santa had been and he was mere minutes away from tearing his presents open.

     He studied each face as they passed him, more than once, his eager eye was returned by a stare, some of bewilderment and some of nervousness. He ignored these strange expressions, instead only focusing on finding those features he had missed so much and longed to drink in once more.

     The crowds rushed past in a blur, hollow face after hollow face, thin and wracked with exhaustion, little hope left in their hearts and no spark left in their eyes. Nothing but the empty vacantness of zombies marching mindlessly to their destination. As each wave passed Punk by, his delight began to dwindle. How could he stand there and feel such joy when there was none to be had in the faces of his fellow prisoners. He tried to force them aside, to remind himself of the mission they were on, the sole reason they had surrendered themselves to this pitiful place but it was difficult on seeing the despair before him.

     Slowly, the crowds began to dwindle and soon only the stragglers were left. Punk’s eyebrows knotted together. Had he missed her? No, he couldn’t have. He had searched every face, studied every feature. There was no way she could have slipped by him. Perhaps she was one of the last to leave? He would wait a while longer.

     Now, only one or two workers were filing past him at a time. Colt and Finn came into view and made to approach Punk but he waved them on. Punk’s heart began to sink again as he finally succumbed to the fact that he would not be reuniting with April today either. He scrubbed his hands over his face. Perhaps he was mistaken, perhaps he had been so desperate to see her again he had imagined her in the crowd? He pursed his lips and dismissed the thought from his mind. No, he had seen her that day, he was certain of it. Perhaps something had happened to her? He rejected that thought too as it scared him.

     Letting out a long, sorrow-filled sigh, Punk admitted defeat and turned to head back inside when a voice sounded out behind him.

     ‘Punk?’

     He stopped in his tracks. It was a woman’s voice. A familiar voice.

     He turned around slowly and his eyes met the old friend before him.

     ‘Oh my god! It _is_ you!’ The woman rushed forward and threw her arms around his neck. Punk froze for a moment, not trusting if this was reality or just another hopeful vision playing out in his mind, but eventually, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and returned the gesture. He felt tears on the back of his neck. ‘You’re alive! I can’t believe it, you’re really here. It’s so good seeing you again.’

     ‘It’s good to see you too, Celeste,’ Punk replied.

     Celeste, AJ’s friend and roommate that Punk had met several times whenever he had travelled to Tampa, pulled away from the embrace and quickly rubbed the moisture from her eyes. ‘You look awful,’ she smiled at Punk.

     ‘Gee thanks,’ Punk grinned. ‘You actually look… pretty amazing.’

     ‘You’ve lost so much weight,’ Celeste continued, her face full of pity. ‘How long have you been here?’

     ‘Arrived the day before yesterday,’ Punk explained.

     ‘I should have known,’ Celeste said, her smile growing. ‘We kept hearing about this loudmouth newbie making noise. Who else could it have been but you?’

     ‘Is… that a compliment?’ Punk muttered. ‘Wait, ‘we’? April! Is she-‘

     Celeste nodded, a smile planted on her features. The world began to spin wildly as all sense of gravity left Punk’s body.

     ‘She thought she heard your voice calling her name the other day,’ Celeste went on. ‘I told her she was just imaging it but she was determined it was you. Oh my god, I can’t wait to tell her that-‘

     ‘Hey, you two! Get moving!’ a guard yelled out behind them.

     ‘We can’t talk right now,’ Celeste said quickly. ‘I’ll find you tomorrow and explain everything.’

     ‘No wait, please,’ Punk grabbed her as she began to move away. ‘Just tell me if-‘

     ‘YOU HEARD ME! GET MOVING!’ The guard started towards them.

     ‘I’m sorry, Punk. Tomorrow!’ Celeste called over her shoulder as she ran off.

     Punk watched her helplessly as she disappeared through the gate to Wing B. He had sampled the elixir of ecstasy and wanted more. His heart sank but the rest of him was buzzing. He couldn’t help his smile as it took over his entire face, his joy sweeping down to his feet and giving him a spring in his step.

   Finally, after an entire year lost in a hotel room in Canada, after a long hard road full of twists and dangers, after all the sleepless nights, after all of the constant nightmares, all of the niggling fears and doubts that had clawed at his skull and nibbled on his mind, after everything he had endured up to now, he had finally laid eyes on her. At last he could answer one of those burning questions he had asked himself over and over every single day since she had left him that note in their hotel room.

     She’s alive!

     ‘HEY! How many times do I have to-!’

     ‘I’M GOING!’ Punk snapped back at the impatient guard. He turned back towards the mess hall, muttering under his breath ‘asshole.’

 

     ‘Please go and eat,’ Finn implored one more time.

   ‘Not until you do,’ Colt replied.

     ‘I’ve already told you, I’m not hungry,’ Finn said, exasperated.

     ‘You’ve only had that horrible watered down porridge today,’ Punk reminded the Irishman. ‘You need a proper meal.’

     ‘I’m not wasting my tokens on food I’m not going to eat,’ Finn protested. ‘I’ll wait till morning.’

     ‘We’re not gonna stuff our faces while you starve,’ Colt protested.

     ‘I really won’t mind,’ Finn argued back. ‘In fact, I’d feel better.’

     ‘We’re fine,’ Punk told him with a weak smile. The Chicago native could feel his empty stomach object but he ignored it. It was far more important to show their unity than to give into temptation, especially seeing as how they were being watched. Carter was standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall and observing all three of them intensely.

     ‘Is he still there?’ Finn asked.

     ‘Yeap,’ Punk snorted back. ‘Asshole.’

     ‘I can’t believe you actually bumped into Celeste,’ Colt said to Punk, trying to take the three men’s minds away from their empty stomachs. ‘Is she-? Does she look-?’ Colt stumbled clumsily over his words but Punk already knew what was coming.

     ‘As amazing as ever,’ he said rolling his eyes, ‘and still _way_ out of your league.’

     ‘Ah, but my odds have improved from last time,’ Colt pointed out with a smarmy grin. ‘The competition has shrunk and compared to most people in this dump, I’m a catch.’

     Punk couldn’t help but let out a laugh through his nose. He could always rely on his best friend to put a smile on his face, even on his darkest days.

     ‘So we now know April is here. What happens next?’

     Punk looked up at the ceiling, his hazel eyes full of whimsy. It made Colt grin. ‘I’m meeting Celeste tomorrow – she’ll probably bring Ape with her. Then we just need to find a way out of this dump.’

     ‘I can’t believe this,’ Colt said excitedly. ‘After all of this time, all the shit we’ve been through, tomorrow you’ll finally be reunited with the love of your life.’

   ‘Let’s try not to get too ahead of ourselves here,’ Punk warned but he couldn’t keep the hopeful smile from his face. He was buzzing too, both with nerves and excitement and he knew tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

     ‘Hey all,’ Sami chirruped, scooting in next to Finn. His face dropped as he noticed the tension in the Irishman’s shoulders and all three empty spaces before his fellow workers. ‘You guys not eating? Is something wrong?’

     ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Finn chimed in before anybody could explain their circumstances to Sami. Punk and Colt took the hint.

     ‘Nothing, huh?’ Sami eyed the three, suspiciously. ‘This isn’t anything to do with the rumours, is it?’

     ‘What rumours?’ Punk asked.

     ‘Oh… so it’s not,’ Sami realised then winced.

   ‘What rumours, Sami?’ Punk asked again.

     ‘The whole place is buzzing,’ Sami told them. ‘Everybody’s talking about it.’

     ‘About what?’ Punk waved a sad goodbye to his good mood.

     ‘About you.’

     Punk paused for a moment, blinking heavily to try and help jolt his brain back to life. ‘Sorry, what?’

     ‘About your speech yesterday.’ Punk stared back at Sami, lost. ‘With The Miz. Your lost your temper.’

     Punk’s whole face scrunched up and he threw his head back in despair. ‘Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,’ he groaned out to the heavens. On seeing the former wrestler’s reaction, Sami desperately started backtracking.

     ‘I’m sure it’s not that big a deal,’ he spluttered out.

     ‘You said _everyone_ knows about it,’ Punk yelled at the Canadian.

   ‘Well… when I said everyone, I really meant only one or two people…’

     ‘Who? Who are these people?’

     ‘Well… um, me and… uh,’ Sami faltered under the two hazel eyes boring into him, ‘..everyone else?’

     ‘Dammit,’ Punk cursed, slamming his fist against the table, causing several faces to turn around and see what all the commotion was about. ‘What?’ Punk fired at the overly curious strangers and they each turned away hastily.

     ‘So much for a low profile,’ Colt muttered. ‘First Punk’s spat with Mizanin and now Finn with that other guard-‘

     ‘Other guard, what guard?’ Sami asked, looking over to Finn for confirmation but the Irishman was leaning head-down on the table, his face buried in his crossed arms.

     ‘Sami,’ Punk jumped in to take the Canadian’s attention away from Finn. ‘This will blow over, right?’

     ‘I don’t know,’ Sami replied, honestly. ‘Nothing exciting ever happens. We all just work, sleep and eat. To have something out of the ordinary like this happen, especially when it’s a citizen standing up to one of the guards…’ he tailed off on seeing the deflated look on Punk’s face. ‘It’s not going to blow over any time soon.’

     Punk and Colt’s shoulders visibly slumped.

     ‘So, is this how you idiots fly under the radar?’

     Everyone, bar Finn, looked up on hearing Roman’s booming voice above them. The Samoan stood at the edge of their table, looking non-too-pleased.

     ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Punk sighed, testily. ‘You find anything out?’

     ‘I’ve just returned,’ Reigns told them, holding up his full tray of food. ‘I’ll find you later.’ The large Samoan made to walk away when he suddenly stopped and came back. ‘And try to be a little conspicuous. I’m not rotting in solitary for you guys.’

     ‘Duly noted,’ Punk said, flatly before rubbing his hands over his face.

     ‘I’m going to go lie down,’ Finn said, abruptly standing to his feet. ‘Sami, make sure they eat, ok?’

     ‘Um, yeah, sure, ok,’ Sami stammered back.

     ‘You want one of us to come with?’ Punk offered the younger man.

     ‘No,’ Finn reassured them. ‘Eat,’ he ordered the pair as he turned and left the hall. Punk watched as he walked away, his concerned expression never leaving the Irishman until he disappeared among the crowds. Colt nudged his shoulder, breaking his concentration.

     ‘Come on, we better do as he says,’ Colt said.

     ‘Sure,’ Punk said and with a heavy sigh, wrenched himself to his feet. He was about to turn and follow his friend when something caught his attention. The blonde guard who had been watching the trio like a hawk was suddenly gone. Punk furrowed his brows for just a second before shaking the thought from his head and following Colt to the queue.

 

     There was only half an hour before curfew when Punk and Sami met up outside their cell door along with Colt. The three had decided to explore their wing of the prison and gather as much information as they could then meet in Punk’s cell to discuss their findings. One look at each of their faces, however, and Punk knew that their intel would not be earth-shattering. With a heavy heart, he opened the door to the cell and visibly jumped on seeing a man waiting on Sami’s bed for them.

     ‘Finally,’ Reigns said, standing to his feet. ‘Thought you would never show up. Shut that door and I’ll tell you everything I found out today.’

     ‘Why do I get the feeling I’m not gonna like what you have to say?’ Punk asked, suspiciously as he herded Colt and Sami in before gently closing the cell door.

     Reigns breathed out slowly noisily through his nose. ‘Because you’re not.’

 

     Alone in his cell, Finn was struggling to rest. He lay on his good side, facing the wall with his eyes closed, focusing his mind. He could blot out the hunger pangs in his stomach, those were natural to him, he could numb the pain in his ribs and leg, pain was a friend of his, but the anger… the anger was proving hard to quell. His whole body was shaking with fury and the entity inside him was scraping at his stomach walls with its claws but he couldn’t let it chew through the ropes. He had to keep it under control. He couldn’t lose his cool or he would put the whole plan into jeopardy.

     The sound of the cell door opening softly alerted him from his light doze. He let out a long, ragged sigh as it dawned on him how quickly time had passed and it was curfew already.

     ‘Did you eat?’ Finn asked out-loud, not even opening his eyes. He waited for Colt’s response but the room stayed quiet. He could hear the Chicago native’s feet shuffling across the stone floor and his breathing as it whistled though his nose. ‘Colt?’ Finn asked again. ‘Did you eat?’

     ‘I’ve eaten,’ a strange voice rang out that made Finn’s blood turn cold. The Irishman spun around and sat up in his bed, his skin ghostly white and his blue eyes swollen with shock. He braced himself hard against the brick wall behind him and tried to ease his thumping heart as he faced the nightmare in the room.

     Carter smirked over to Finn from his position by the doorway. Slowly, and with movement laced with intent, he shut the door to the cell, his eyes never leaving Finn once.

     ‘I’m still hungry though,’ he smiled like a fox to a rabbit.

 

     Punk groaned loudly as he pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a stress headache taking hold. He could sense every eye on him and he hated it.

     ‘Lay it on me then,’ he said at last, lowering his hands onto his knees, feeling a sudden, deep longing for somewhere soft to curl up in. Damn, how he missed his old couch back in Chicago. Sinking back, watching the game...

     _Focus._

‘The whole of the prison building, garden and front yard are surrounded by the wall which, as you know is twenty foot tall. Luci and Seth could probably climb it no problem but others will find it an obstacle.’

     ‘Why did you look at me when you said that?’ Colt asked, offended.

     ‘Not now, Colt,’ Punk was growing exasperated. ‘Go on.’

     ‘There are two entrances that I could make out. The main gates at the front of the building and an old gate which would have lead to the back yard-’

     Punk’s ears pricked up at that. ‘You mean the garden? Where?’

     ‘Let me finish,’ Reigns raised a hand in warning. ‘However, the back gate has been bricked up. Would take several of us with sledgehammers to knock it down.’

     ‘Damn it,’ Punk cursed under his breath. ‘Ok, so it’s a no-go. What else you got?’

     ‘That’s it,’ Reigns said, crossing his heavily muscled arms and leaning back against the wall. Punk stared at him incredulously.

     ‘What do you mean that’s it?’ he demanded, feeling the heat burning in his skin. ‘There’s gotta be another way. A window or a vent or-‘

     ‘There is another way,’ Reigns pointed out in that same, calm voice of his.

     ‘Where?’

     ‘Like I said before. The main gates.’

     ‘Not an option.’

     ‘It’s the only option.’

     ‘Seriously, there wasn’t even a window?’

     ‘I walked past that wall around two dozen times today. I searched every inch of it. The only way out is through the main gates.’

     Punk was turning beetroot with frustration. ‘There’s no way in hell we’re gonna be able to just _walk_ through the front gates. Unless you know a way to get out of the wing, down the corridor through two sets of double locked gateways and out the heavily guarded, heavily fortified gate, all while dodging any guards or sentries on duty, then I’m all ears.’

     ‘That’s not my job,’ Reigns stated, getting to his feet. ‘I’m only the informant. _You’re_ the mastermind behind this whole operation. _You_ have to come up with something.’

     ‘Yeah, of course, because you know it’s fucking impossible,’ Punk snapped, jumping to his feet, but Reigns was not biting.

     ‘I’ve done my part of the deal,’ he said as he opened the door, ‘now you do yours. Find Dean.’ He calmly walked out of the cell, leaving all three men stewing inside. Punk began to work off his irritation, pacing the room, muttering every swear word he knew, each one worse than the last.

     Colt turned to Sami as they watched their leader try in vain to quell his anger. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that went about as well as expected.’

 

     The blood was pounding in Finn’s ears as his eyes stalked the large, blonde-haired man before him. Carter didn’t even seem to notice as he looked around the tiny, bare cell.

     ‘So this is your room?’ he said to Finn, not expecting an answer. ‘Pretty standard for fresh meat. No blankets, no pillows. No home comforts. Life can be tough, huh?’

     ‘Get out!’ Finn snarled at the guard.

     ‘Oh now, don’t be like that,’ Carter finally turned to face Finn. ‘Especially when I’m only here to try and help you.’

     He began walking towards Finn’s bed. The Irishman backed up as far as he could go, his entire spine flat against the brick wall. His heart began to sprint, the blood roaring through his veins as the larger man came closer.

     Carter placed something onto Finn’s bedside table before stepping back and sitting on Colt’s bunk, watching as the Irishman eyed the gift.

     ‘What do you want?’ Finn growled at the blonde.

     ‘Have you seen what I just gave you?’ Carter said, raising an eyebrow.

     ‘I don’t want it,’ Finn hissed back.

     ‘Dude, that’s twenty tokens right there,’ Carter argued. ‘Think of what that could buy you. You could turn this shabby room into a palace.’

     ‘I don’t want it,’ Finn’s voice grew darker still. Carter didn’t seem to hear. He rubbed his palms together and leant forward.

     ‘You’re new here,’ he began, ignoring the arsenic-laced glares that the former Bullet Club leader was giving him. ‘You don’t quite grasp how things work around here so let me explain. The whole Three Expectations thing, work hard and you will go far, the American Dream – all a sham. Just a little something to keep the workers’ spirits up.’ Finn’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s not about what you do that counts in here; it’s who you know. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. You see what I’m getting at?’

     ‘Get out!’ Finn barked.

     ‘Urgghh,’ Carter sighed moodily as he rubbed his hand over his face. ‘Clearly not.’ He stood up and made his way towards Finn’s bed. Seeing the guard make a bee-line for him, Finn pounced up to his feet, meaning to swerve past Carter and rush to the door. Quick as a whip, Carter’s arm blocked Finn from getting away and the Irishman found himself penned into the corner of the room.

     ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed,’ Carter whispered, advancing on Finn who, in turn, began backing away. ‘Ever since you arrived, you and I have had this weird tension between us.’

     ‘Yeah, well-‘ Finn began but for once, words escaped him. He was caught in a terrible situation and he needed to find a way out immediately without landing himself in deeper waters.

     ‘You don’t fully grasp who I am,’ Carter added. ‘I could drastically improve your lifestyle here. Everything you want I can give you. Extra food? Yours! A feather-down pillow with an Egyptian cotton case? I may just have one lying around. And all I ask for in return is one little thing…’

     ‘I thought taking advantage of scared, young women was more your thing,’ Finn spat. Carter’s eyes lit up and the wicked smile on his face widened, exposing his sharp canine teeth.

     ‘So you have heard of me,’ he jeered. He stepped forward once more and Finn found himself backed right up against the corner of the room. He was trapped with nowhere left to go and Carter was closing in on him. ‘Women are more my thing,’ Carter continued, his voice as smooth as oil and equally as suffocating, ‘but I can make an exception. So long as they’re pretty.’ Carter tried to cup Finn’s cheek but the Irishman batted it away.

     ‘Desperate, you mean,’ Finn spat. ‘Starved and overworked. Looking for any lifeline. You get off on having people grovel at your feet.’

     ‘I don’t want them groveling my _feet_ ,’ Carter teased back. Carter’s hand went on the attack again and Finn felt the back of the guard’s finger trace the scar left by AJ Styles’ bullet, following the line up his temple, before gripping the back of Finn’s head.

     ‘You’re fucking sick,’ Finn snarled. He recoiled as Carter’s other hand found his face, the pad of the predator’s thumb lightly caressing his lips.

     ‘And you’ve got some mouth on you, boy,’ Carter took another step in and now his body was flush up against Finn’s. The former Bullet Club leader was frozen in place. ‘I’d like to see what else it can do.’

     Carter placed his hand on Finn’s head and began to push him down. Finally, something retched inside of Finn and he shot back to reality.

    ‘GET AWAY FROM ME!’ he bellowed and pushed the larger man away. Carter lost his footing on the corner of the bed and fell onto his back. Finn grabbed his opportunity and rushed for the door.

     ‘Oh no you don’t,’ Carter spat and swung his leg out, catching Finn’s bad shin. The former Bullet Club leader fell onto his front and cried out loudly as his broken ribs took the brunt of the fall. ‘You stinking piece of shit,’ Carter seethed through clenched teeth as he grabbed a fistful of Finn’s hair and forced him up to his feet. Finn was thrown against the brick wall, Carter’s hand clenched around his throat. Finn gasped out as his airway was tightened, staring back with defiant ice-blue-eyes into Carter’s cold, grey orbs. Gone was the wooing and seduction in his expression from before, now he was raging with anger. He was embarrassed and for a man with such a fragile ego that made him deadly.

     ‘I get it now,’ Carter said, his smile wide but menacing. ‘You’re not looking for a hand-out, you’re looking for trouble.’ His grip around Finn’s throat tightened. ‘Well, little man, I can give you-‘

     Carter’s head jerked as Finn spat straight into his eye. Carter snarled as he wiped the spittle away with the back of his hand. ‘Oh, you are a fucking dead man.’ He pulled his fist back and aimed it at Finn’s face, holding it with intent. Finn glared back at him, unfazed, not showing a sliver of fear at the threat of a brutal beatdown.

     Carter’s smirk returned to his lips and he lowered his arm calmly and silently. Finn stared back at him with eyebrows creased, wondering what this man had up his sleeve.

     ‘Ok, so you’re some kind of tough guy, huh?’ Carter taunted the Irishman. ‘You’re not scared of me, just like that jumped-up, tattooed friend of yours. I believe you. From what I heard, you took on the Wyatt family and lived to tell the tale. Very impressive.’ His smile widened. ‘Although, you didn’t escape unscathed.’

     Carter’s hand lashed out, grabbing the zip of Finn’s jumpsuit and yanking it all the way down with such force that it tore the fabric of the Irishman’s T-shirt from neck to hem. Finn’s stomach lurched as the larger man’s rough digits invaded the layers of his uniform until they found their prize. Carter’s fingers snaked around the bandage on Finn’s side and the Irishman felt a stab of pain as the guard’s thumb pushed into his shattered ribcage.

     ‘I’ve met tough guys like you before,’ Carter went on, ‘men who claimed they could feel no pain.’ His thumb pushed in further and Finn felt another wave of agony sweep through his side. ‘You wanna know what I found out. They _do_ feel pain.’ His hand was now starting to squeeze Finn’s ribs and his whole side was burning but Finn kept his stoic glare trained on his assailant. ‘They feel each and every piece of it. They’re just really good at hiding it. But when push comes to shove-’

     Carter dug his thumb in deep.

     Something inside Finn’s side shifted.

     Finn couldn’t contain the gasp of pain that escaped his lips.

     ‘- they always break down eventually.’

     Carter looked down at his prey. Finn’s head was bowed and the vicious guard smiled triumphantly as the Irishman gave in to his emotions, but as he listened carefully he could pick out that it was not sobs that were coming from Finn. It was laughter.

     ‘What?’ Carter snarled. ‘What’s so funny?’

     Finn finally lifted his head up and smiled smugly at the larger man. ‘I’ll give you a free shot,’ he said.

     ‘What are you-?’

     ‘Just one,’ Finn warned, raising his finger. All of a sudden, his face went dark. ‘And you better make it count. Because after that, I’m gonna beat you down so hard that not only will you never hurt anybody else again, you’ll be enjoying your meals through a straw for the rest of your life.’

     Anger was flushing up the skin on Carter’s neck and it looked as if he would explode any minute. Finn enjoyed the spectacle and waited for the blow patiently, taunting the guard with a smug grin, the like of which Punk would have been equally proud of and irked by.

     ‘I AM GONNA KILL YOU, YOU ABSOLUTE WASTE OF-‘

     ‘Finn? What’s going on?’

     The pair stopped and turned towards the door, seeing Colt standing there, his fists balled up and ready to fight. Carter, seeing he was outnumbered, wisely decided to retreat for now. He fixed Finn with a venomous scowl.

     ‘Think you have it tough right now?’ he sneered. ‘Just you wait.’

     With that final threat, he grabbed the tokens left on Finn’s table and stormed out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Finn slumped back against the wall, his eyes screwed shut, trying to calm down the raging fire in his belly.

     ‘Finn, what the hell was that all about?’ Colt demanded. ‘What was that guy doing here?’

     ‘What do you think?’ Finn replied as he pulled the zip of his jumpsuit back up with trembling fingers. ‘Big guy trying to act all tough and intimidating.’ He placed his hand over his ribcage as a whole new wave of pain radiated from it.

     ‘Did he hurt you?’ Colt asked with concern on seeing the agony on his friend’s face.

     ‘Not as much as he could have,’ Finn answered quizzically.

     ‘Looked like you two were about to square off,’ Colt noted.

     ‘I kept my cool,’ Finn said.

     Colt sighed. He wasn’t going to get much information from the Irishman. ‘Come on, let’s head outside. The curfew count will be starting shortly.’

     Finn nodded and led the way out to the corridor. Colt watched him as he passed and hoped with every fibre of his being that he was wrong and that Finn had not made himself another powerful enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear - things are getting more and more complicated!  
> By the way, the main song I used for inspiration for this arc was 'Rise' by Skillet. However, Finn has a different song which I won't reveal just yet or it might give the game away ;)


	43. Suckerpunch

     ‘I’m worried about Finn.’

     Punk looked over to Colt, spoon poised near his mouth on the cusp of taking a bite of his watery porridge. With a sigh, he lowered the spoon back down.

     ‘Why? What’s he done now?’ he asked.

     ‘Nothing,’ Colt was quick to defend his friend. ‘Well, at least I hope nothing.’

     ‘What’re you trying to say here, Colt?’

     ‘Remember that guard? The tall guy with blonde hair? When I went back to our cell last night, he was in there. He had Finn shoved up against the wall and had his hand round his throat.’

     ‘Is Finn ok?’ Punk asked, now concerned.

     ‘I think so. His ribs are bothering him more though.’

     ‘What is that guy’s problem?’ Punk spat.

     ‘The thing is… I think they were about to duke it out. If Finn’s not careful, he’ll land himself in solitary.’

     Punk closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before releasing his breath in a long, drawn out sigh. ‘Did Finn retaliate in any way?’

     ‘He said he kept his cool.’

     Punk sat for a second, mulling over what Colt had said. ‘Ok,’ he replied, nonchalantly and picked up his spoon once more.

     ‘That’s it?’ Colt asked, bewildered. ‘You’re not gonna talk to him.’

     ‘You’re asking _me_ to lecture a guy about keeping his cool?’ Punk arched an eyebrow at Colt.

     ‘Fair point,’ Colt shrugged.

     ‘Out of all of us, Finn’s got the longest fuse. He knows how to stay calm under pressure. More importantly, he’s got as much reason to get out of here safely as we do.’

     ‘But he’s out of his comfort zone,’ Colt pointed out, pessimistically. ‘And what if this guard keeps pushing his buttons? You think he’s just gonna take it?’

     Punk paused again, for longer this time.

     ‘We’ll keep an eye on him,’ he said, finally. ‘Try and keep that asshole away from him.’

     ‘Easier said than done,’ Colt mumbled, eyeing up the blonde guard who stood only a few feet away.

     Carter’s eyes locked onto Colt’s for a second and the Chicago native hurriedly looked away. It was only when Finn plopped himself down next to Colt that he realised it had been the Irishman the guard had been looking at all along.

     ‘Morning lads,’ Finn greeted the pair. He received silence in return and looked up to find the pair staring at him strangely. ‘What…?’

     ‘No breakfast today? That’s two meals you’ve skipped,’ Punk noted.

     ‘I’d prefer to get a couple of water bottles.’

     ‘How you feelin’ today?’

     ‘Fine,’ Finn replied hesitantly. ‘You?’

     ‘Ribs alright?’

     ‘Better than yesterday.’

     ‘And your leg?’

     Finn looked between the pair again. ‘What’s going on?’

     ‘Nothing, nothing, right Punk?’ Colt gave his best friend a warning look.

     ‘Yeah, right, nothing,’ Punk replied and turned his attention back to his porridge.

     ‘Nothing…?’ Finn eyed the two men suspiciously.

     ‘So, what’s on the agenda for today?’ Colt asked, desperate to change the subject.

     ‘Well, other than meeting up with Celeste, it’s the same as before,’ Punk shrugged. ‘Find out what we can. Keep our heads down and keep in line.’ The last sentiment was heavily emphasized as he fixed both Colt and Finn with a warning glance. Finn nodded in response but he couldn’t help but glance up at Carter who was stood directly in front of him several feet away. The Irishman could feel the tall blonde’s eyes on him constantly and it made the hair on the back of his neck bristle. Even now as he briefly glimpsed Carter’s way, the guard’s gaze found him and Finn quickly looked away again.

     ‘Heard about the intel from Reigns,’ Finn said to try and keep his mind off the guard. ‘Have you had any bright ideas?’

     ‘Have you?’ Punk asked back, his tone becoming defensive already.

     ‘No,’ Finn replied with defeat. ‘But I’ll try.’

     Punk continued to slurp away at his porridge but inside his mind was raging. In truth, he had not stopped thinking about what Reigns had said all night, staring up at the dark stone ceiling of his cell, going through every possible scenario in his head. He was normally one for a positive mental attitude to help him with his problem solving and yet every single plan he played out in his mind ended up in failure with one or all of them ending up in solitary. Escape was looking less and less likely.

     ‘You’re stressing yourself out,’ Colt warned, knowing that look on his friend’s face.

     ‘This whole fucking place is stressing me out,’ Punk shot back, scrubbing his face with both hands.

     ‘Try not to dwell on it too much,’ Colt tried to calm his friend down. ‘You’re always at your best when you work off-the-cuff anyway.’

     ‘We can’t afford to fuck up though,’ Punk insisted, feeling his stress levels climbing higher. ‘ _I_ can’t afford to fuck this up.’

     ‘You’re meeting April today aren’t you?’ That had the desired effect and Colt sighed with relief on seeing some of the angry tension leaving his friend’s body, instead replacing it with nervous energy.

     ‘Shit, this is all too much,’ Punk’s fingers were scratching through his hair now. ‘What do I even say to her?’

     ‘Like I said, you work best off-the-cuff,’ Colt reminded him. ‘You’ll know what to say the moment you see her. It’ll come naturally.’

     ‘It always did before,’ Punk uttered, a soft smile on his face.

     ‘And you never know,’ Colt went on, ‘seeing her might even give you some of that focus you need.’

     ‘Here’s hoping,’ Punk sighed.

     ‘Just remember, you don’t have to decide anything just yet,’ Colt tried to soothe his friend. ‘We’ve got time.’

     ‘No we don’t,’ Punk replied, his fingers moving once more to tap his lips. ‘And on top of everything else I’ve gotta figure out what happened to Dean or else I’ll have Eric Bischoff’s pet mutt coming to kill me in my sleep.’

     ‘Killing people in their sleep was never really our style,’ a voice rang out behind Punk, catching him by surprise. Recognising the voice, his shoulders slumped and he screwed his eyes shut, turning around to see Roman Reigns standing over him with his arms crossed. ‘Dean especially preferred a real fight.’

     ‘Morning, Roman,’ Punk said with a weak smile.

     ‘’Pet mutt’, huh?’

     ‘Whattaya got for me?’ Punk asked, turning the conversation around quickly.

     ‘People are still talking,’ Reigns told him. ‘You’re quickly turning into a celebrity around here.’

     ‘Not my choice, believe me,’ Punk rolled his eyes.

     ‘I thought I told you idiots from the start,’ Reigns warned the trio, his voice deep and threatening, ‘keep under the radar or you’ll fuck this whole thing up.’

     ‘Fine, fine, we get it,’ Punk shot back. ‘You got somewhere you gotta be?’

     ‘I’m keeping my eye on you guys,’ Reigns growled as he turned to leave.

     ‘Yeah, you and every other fucker in this place,’ Punk grumbled under his breath.

     ‘Jesus, that dude is scary,’ Colt muttered, his eyes watching Reigns as he disappeared through the double doors leading outside. Finn looked up briefly to catch a glimpse of the large Samoan.

     ‘I could take him,’ he shrugged. He noted the silence around him and looked up to see Punk and Colt shooting him another look. ‘I’m not going to try,’ he clarified. ‘Just saying, I could.’

     ‘Alright, let’s finish up and head out,’ Punk said, noting how the hall was starting to empty around them. ‘Another hard day’s labour ahead.’ The trio slowly got to their feet and made their way to the door when they were accosted by Carter.

     ‘66036, you’re coming with me today,’ Carter said to them. It took Punk and Colt a while to realise the guard meant Finn. The Irishman, however, had known straight away and with jaw set, stepped forward. Punk swiftly swooped in front of the younger man, stopping him in his tracks.

     ‘We need Finn with us,’ Punk argued. ‘We’ll never hit our targets if we’re a man down.’

     ‘You’ll be fine,’ Carter dismissed him. ‘I thought about what you said yesterday. 66036 here is nursing injuries and the work we assigned him is too demanding. I’ve found something more suitable for him to do. Something less taxing.’

     ‘He’ll be ok with us,’ Colt reassured the guard. ‘He’s already said he’s feeling better today.’

     ‘Why am I debating this with you two?’ Carter asked, his voice growing dark. ‘Are you questioning my orders?’

     ‘No they’re not,’ Finn stepped in.

     ‘Finn-‘ Punk whispered to the younger man who turned and fixed him with a determined look.

     ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said before walking towards Carter who motioned over to a door at one side of the room. Finn boldly walked towards the door, Carter right behind him and soon they were gone from sight.

     ‘So our great plan of keeping Finn away from that guard lasted all of two minutes,’ Colt said, chewing the inside of his cheek.

     ‘Shhhhhhitt,’ Punk cursed.

 

     It was the longest day of Punk’s life. His mind was completely swallowed up by April, every thought imagining their coming reunion, the look on her face as he raced towards her, her squeal of surprise as he called her name, the feel of her tiny frame as he swung her around. Once she was safely back in his arms, he was determined never to let her go again.

     As soon as the rattle signaled the end of their shift and Punk’s tokens were placed into his palm, he was out of the plot and away, just like the day before. He didn’t have far to go however, Celeste was waiting for him only a couple of gates down. Punk felt his heart backflip until he noticed something that made it sink to the pit of his stomach.

     She was alone.

     ‘There you are!’ Celeste ran to him. There were tears in her eyes. Punk felt his chest tighten.

     ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, grabbing hold of Celeste’s upper arms. ‘April – is she?’

     ‘They took her,’ she gasped out and Punk felt his strength falter.

     ‘Took her? Took her where?’

     ‘To solitary.’

     The world began shaking violently around him. Nothing was making any sense.

     ‘How? When?’

     ‘It happened yesterday,’ Celeste went on. ‘I only found out last night.’

     ‘How did this happen?’ Punk repeated, trying desperately to keep his anger in check. ‘Bayley said she was always so careful.’

     ‘I don’t know,’ Celeste shook her head. ‘They just... they just took her away.’

     ‘How long?’ Punk’s voice was small, weak. ‘How long will she be in there?’

     ‘They say she hit a guard,’ Celeste’s eyes were full of tears, some were flowing down her cheek. ‘Punk, that’s a serious offense. She could be down there for…’ she faltered under his heavy glare.

     ‘How _long,_ Celeste?’ Punk demanded, his features turning dark.

     ‘Months,’ she whimpered. Punk clenched his jaw tight, feeling the emotion bubbling up inside of him when Celeste beat him to the punch. ‘I didn’t know, I didn’t know. I tried to help, I tried to speak to the guards but, oh god, Punk, I just- I just don’t know-‘

     She broke down completely, her knees threatening to buckle as the tears streamed down her face. Punk grabbed her and held her close, cooing softly to calm her down. ‘It’s ok,’ he said, hiding the tremble in his voice as he gently stroked his hand over her hair, ‘it’s ok. I’m here. I’ll find her. I’ll get her out of there. I promise.’

 

     Colt took one look at Punk and decided _not_ to ask how his meeting with Celeste went.

     He sat opposite his friend, tray in hand and eyed him with caution. Colt could almost feel the anger radiating off of Punk like heatwaves, his face hard and tight as he stared daggers at his full tray, not making a single move to eat the goopy mush in front of him.

     ‘Slop on the menu again,’ Colt noted, indicating their trays. ‘Kitchen have really outdone themselves this time.’

     His attempt at humour was broken by footsteps approaching them as Finn came to sit beside them. The immediate impact of the Irishman’s appearance rippled out around them as people began to cover their faces and gag. A couple of prisoners even retched, threatening to lose their supper. Everybody sitting close by grabbed their food and rapidly abandoned their seats to look elsewhere.

     ‘Jesus H Christ, Finn!’ Colt exclaimed, pulling his shirt up over his nose and mouth. ‘What’s that fucking smell?’

     ‘Sorry,’ Finn sighed. ‘They hosed me down but it didn’t do much good.’

     ‘Seriously, what the fuck is that?’ Punk demanded, coming out of his slump to bury his nose in the crook of his elbow.

     ‘So you know all of those pleasant little buckets we have in our rooms?’ Finn smiled bitterly. ‘Turns out there’s prisoners here whose job it is to collect them and empty them into this large drain in the basement.’

     ‘They had you emptying out everyone’s potties?’ Colt questioned with disgust.

     ‘I wish,’ Finn replied. ‘Did you also know that when you constantly pour human waste into the same tight space over and over again that it begins to calcify and blocks the drain?’

     ‘Fuck…’ Punk groaned on seeing where this was going.

     ‘Turns out you need to chip at it for quite some time to break it all up then scrub down all of the walls to get rid of the other bits of scum. As you can imagine, not a very popular job.’

     ‘Holy hell, Finn,‘ Colt shook his head.

     ‘Oh and the cherry on top is that the drain is not very big,’ Finn said with a faux chirpy demeanour. ‘Large enough to fit somebody of say, my size and build, so long as he’s on his hands and knees the whole time.’

     ‘Dude, I’m so sorry,’ Colt apologized. ‘We tried to stop them taking you away.’

     ‘It’s not your fault,’ Finn reassured the Chicago natives, waving Colt’s apology away.

     ‘Yeah, it’s that asshole guard who’s the problem here,’ Punk spat.

     ‘Joke’s on them though,’ Finn smiled triumphantly, prompting strange looks from Punk and Colt. Leaning in closely, he lowered his register to a whisper. ‘I’ve found our way out of here.’

     ‘We’re listening,’ Punk nodded as the corners of his lips curled up.

     ‘While I was in that drain, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to see where it leads,’ Finn continued. ‘Straight to the sewers.’

     ‘But you said the drain was narrow,’ Colt noted, concerned about where this was leading.

     ‘It’ll be tight and it won’t be pleasant,’ Finn admitted, ‘but it can be done. All of us could get down there, even Reigns. Gentlemen, we have our means of escape.’

     ‘Could you find the drain again?’ Punk inquired.

     Finn pointed to a door at the far end of the hall, the same one Carter had taken him away through that morning. ‘A right, second left, down the stairs and straight ahead.’

     ‘Good work, kid,’ Punk clapped Finn on the shoulder as the smile on his face grew even higher. At last, they had managed to figure out one complicated piece of the puzzle. It would have been a sweet victory if another, even more complicated problem hadn’t already come along and taken its place.

     ‘I didn’t even get to the best part yet,’ Finn grinned and slammed his palm against the table. When he pulled his hand back, he revealed a pile of tokens. ‘I got paid. ‘The Perfect Ten’ as Tye would say. I am _starving_. See you soon, lads,’ Finn waved and headed towards the kitchens. Punk and Colt watched him as he walked with some of his old swagger again.

     ‘For a guy who’s literally been knee deep in shit today he sure has a spring in his step,’ Colt noted with a chuckle.

     ‘It’s a victory,’ Punk shrugged. ‘They tried to tear him down and he showed them up.’

     ‘I can’t believe they did that to him. What is that guy’s fucking problem?’

     ‘He saw Finn’s injuries and assumed he was easy pickings. Little does that asshole know that Finn’s on his best behaviour right now and if he chose to, he could break that blonde bastard in half without breaking a sweat.’

     ‘I have to say, your attitude towards our Irish friend has changed a lot,’ Colt smiled widely at Punk.

     ‘He’s grown on me,’ Punk shrugged, unafraid to admit his change of heart. ‘He’s earned my respect. But don’t get me wrong, he’s still an asshole at times.’

     ‘I know the feeling,’ Colt smirked.

     The sharp clatter of metal scattering across the floor disrupted their conversation. The sound brought the whole room to silence for a moment followed by a rumble of chatter as citizens jumped to their feet and a crowd began to form.

     ‘What the-? Punk queried.

     ‘That was Finn!’ Colt cried.

     In an instant, Punk was on his feet and rushing towards the scene with Colt in hot pursuit. As he got closer, the crowds were more densely packed together and Punk had to force his way through.

     ‘Out of my way! Move!’ Punk cried, pushing gawking bystanders aside so he could get closer to Finn. Punk found the Irishman sprawled out on his back on the hard concrete floor, surrounded by a thick scattering of food that would have been his evening meal. Blood was pouring down from his nose and mouth, splattering crimson onto his white vest.

     ‘Hey Finn, you alright?’ Punk asked, kneeling down next to the younger man and helping him to sit up.

     ‘Slimy piece of…’ Finn muttered under his breath as he wiped his face with the palm of his hand and stared at his reddened digits.

     ‘Who did this to you?’ Punk questioned but Finn was still trying to find his bearing. ‘Did anybody see what happened?’ His question was met with a wall of silent faces, even though everybody around him was jostling to get a glimpse of the action. ‘I know at least one of you saw!’ Punk shot at the audience again. ‘For once in your life, stop being scared and stand up for yourselves!’ The wall of onlookers remained silent. ‘Fucking cowards,’ he spat.

     Someone took umbrage to Punk’s words and decided to take action; unfortunately it was the one person he needed to stay down at that very moment. Like a shot, Finn had slipped Punk’s grasp and was standing atop the nearest table. He scanned the hall until he found his attacker, who was laughing with his fellow guards, his cohorts patting him on the back.

     ‘HEY! NICE SHOT!’ he bellowed at Carter, who pretended not to hear him. ‘But I told you to make it count!’

     ‘GET DOWN FROM THERE!’ a nearby guard ordered Finn but the Irishman was too livid to notice.

     ‘TURN AROUND AND FACE ME LIKE A REAL MAN!’ Finn roared, his talons were out and the fire raging through his veins.

     Carter turned only to mockingly place his finger to his lips. Finn reached boiling point and started towards his assailant when Punk appeared in front of him, blocking his way.

     ‘Stay calm,’ The Chicago native warned the younger man.

     ‘I’ve had enough of staying calm,’ Finn snarled. ‘He’s done nothing but torment me ever since we got here.’

     ‘I know but now’s not the time to-.’

     ‘YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT HE TRIED TO-,’ Finn yelled right in Punk’s face but stopped mid-sentence. ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you.’ He tried to get past Punk but the former wrestler grabbed his arm and yanked him back around. ‘Let go of me right now,’ Finn snarled at Punk. ‘I’m only asking once.’

     ‘YOU GUYS DEAF? I SAID GET DOWN!’ The guard took a step towards the pair when Carter put his hand out in front of him.

     ‘I’ll deal with this,’ he told his coworker smugly before making his way towards Punk and Finn who were too involved in their own dispute to notice the tall blonde brandishing his baton with malice intent.

     ‘Don’t threaten me,’ Punk was right in Finn’s face now, not afraid of the former Bullet Club leader.

     ‘Hey idiots!’ Punk heard the voice of Roman Reigns below them and glimpsed down to see the Samoan standing next to the table. ‘What do you think you’re doing!’

   ‘Look,’ Punk tried again to calm the Irishman down, ignoring Reigns. ‘I know you’re angry right now but-‘

     ‘Oh, I’m beyond angry,’ Finn retorted. ‘I’m hurt, I’m starving and I stink of actual shit so if you don’t take your hands off of me right now I’m going to-‘

     ‘Ape’s in solitary,’ Punk blurted out. Finally, Finn paused and looked him in the eye. ‘I don’t know what the fuck to do. You figured out how to escape this place, I need your help with this too. Help me!’

     ‘Punk… I…’

     ‘WATCH OUT!’

     Punk heeded Reigns’ warning and noticed the movement right behind Finn. His eyes flickered to the culprit just in time to see Carter raise his baton high and aim it straight for Finn’s braced-up leg.

     Instinct kicked in and Punk acted on reflex. He grabbed hold of Finn and yanked him out of harm’s way, the Irishman’s natural grace failing him for once as he landed on his side on the tabletop. He looked up in time to see Carter’s swipe hit air.

     ‘Punk?’ Finn gasped out at his savior, suddenly noticing the way the Chicago native was standing before him, his expression far, far away, his eyes and mouth agape. On hearing his name, the former wrestler turned towards Finn, his eyebrows pulling together slowly as the stupidest idea yet struck him. Finn already knew what the tattooed man was thinking.

     ‘NO! NO, WAIT!’

     But it was too late. Punk’s legs began pulling him forward and he took a flying leap through the air. Finn could do nothing but watch Punk’s trajectory as it hurled forward, the air sucked out of the room as every single eye in the hall watched on, dumbfounded, as the former wrester soared like some majestic bird of prey. Punk’s fist aimed perfectly and found its target, landing a brutal right hook on Carter’s jaw before the rest of his body collided with the blonde’s and the pair went crashing down to the floor. Carter’s cohorts were on him in an instant, not even allowing him a breath before they set on him like a pack of dogs.

     Unknown to Eden’s wardens, Punk’s actions had lit a match and now they were throwing gasoline onto the flames.

     Seeing the reckless act of violence, the bewilderment of Eden’s citizens erupted into anger and the silent, observant crowd exploded into a riot of roaring voices and ferocious fists. They swarmed the guards, who barely got their batons out in time to try and fend off the raging mass, fighting a losing battle as they were outnumbered by nearly ten to one.

     Finn watched on stunned from where he had fallen on top of the table, mesmerized by the abrupt outbreak of the violence. Suddenly two vice-like grips on his jumpsuit jerked him backwards and he fell off the table, landing in two huge, strong arms. He began to snarl and claw, fighting to free himself from the grasp as he was pulled further and further away from the melee.

     ‘Calm down,’ the Reigns’ voice hissed in his ear. ‘You’ll only make things worse.’

     Finn’s mind was a raging bull in a china shop, shattered porcelain hurling around him. It blinded him and confused his senses as he continued to fight back against the strong arms he was trapped in. At last, a familiar sight as Colt’s face came bashing through the turmoil. Finn yelled his name and Colt came rushing towards him.

     ‘Finn! Reigns!’ Colt greeted them with Sami in tow. ‘Where’s Punk?’

     ‘He’s back there!’ Finn yelled to Colt, pointing blindly into the middle of the throng. ‘We have to get him before the guards do.’

     ‘Too late!’ Reigns shouted, threatening to deafen Finn in his right ear. ‘They’ve taken him away. I saw it!’

     ‘I gotta try,’ Colt yelled back. ‘Get Finn out of here,’ he barked to Reigns and Sami before launching into action with added fervor to punch his way through the mass of bodies. Screaming his friend’s name, he struggled to break through the crowd who were packed in as tightly as sardines. A strong hand wrapped itself around his upper arm and forced him to turn around.

     ‘We have to go,’ Reigns cried out, towering above the former wrestler.

     ‘But Punk-!’ Colt tried desperately to squirm free.

     ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ Reigns growled but Colt refused to believe it. He broke Reigns’ grip and made a last gasp effort to reach his friend when a strong arm wrapped itself around his torso. Colt struggled against Reigns but his efforts did little to slacken the grip around his chest. The racket around him made his ears ring as the crowds buffeted him, stray elbows smacking his shoulder, blind boots stamping his feet. He lost all sense of bearing yet still fought on blindly to free himself from Reigns until the crushing of the crowds loosened and Colt found himself outside the madness yet Reigns refused to release him, leading him back towards the cells. Colt’s got one last glimpse of the insanity as a flood of guards decked in riot gear gushed in to quell the raging flames of the riot.

 

     Reigns booted the door to Colt’s cell open and shoved the Chicago native inside. There, he found Sami waiting on the bed and a far less patient Finn pacing irritably back and forth. As soon as he saw Colt and Reigns enter he ran towards them.

     ‘Where’s Punk?’ Finn exclaimed. ‘Where is he?’

     ‘I tried,’ Colt yelled back before rounding on Reigns who had closed the door behind them, ‘but this asshole dragged me away before I could get to him.’

     ‘It was too late,’ Reigns snarled at the angry pair.

     ‘You left him behind?’ Finn squared up to the much larger man, ignoring the blood that was freely flowing down his face and chin.

     ‘I had to,’ Reigns shot back.

     ‘Bullshit!’ Finn spat. ‘I’m going back for him.’ Finn made a grab for the door but Reigns blocked his path. ‘Out of my way.’

     ‘I had you pegged as the smart one here,’ Reigns said with a snort.

     ‘OUT OF MY WAY!’ Finn struck with his balled up fist but Reigns caught it in mid-air, grasping the Irishman’s hand in a vice-like grasp.

     ‘You need to calm down,’ Reigns warned him, unknowingly aping Punk’s words earlier. ‘You need to think about the bigger picture. Punk fucked up. He did it for an honorary cause but he still fucked up. He attacked a guard, in front of every single male citizen in Eden. Even if I had grabbed him and taken him to safety, they would still come looking for him. He was a marked man.’ Finn scrunched up his face, his blue eyes piercing into Reign’s with fury, but the tension left his body as he admitted the Shield leader had a point. He wrenched his hand free from the Samoan’s grip and went back to pacing the room like a wolf in a cage. ‘We had to save as many of us from solitary as we could.’

     ‘So that’s what will happen to him?’ Colt said, his face taut. ‘Solitary?’ Reigns nodded a reply. Colt began to chew the inside of his cheek.

     ‘Stupid, dumb, brainless idiot,’ Finn muttered to himself as he paced frantically, remembering the look on Punk’s face just before he leapt. ‘He did it on purpose.’

     ‘What do you mean?’ asked Reigns while looks of confusion covered the faces of both Colt and Sami.

     ‘He told me right before he struck,’ Finn informed the group. ‘April is in solitary.’

     ‘Shit,’ Colt stuttered out, placing his head in his hands.

     ‘So, he thought the best thing to do was to get himself locked up too?’ Reigns chided.

     ‘He wasn’t thinking straight,’ Finn tried to stick up for his friend. ‘He was scared for her, wanted to be near her, to protect her. I know that feeling – that’s why I sport these bruises. He didn’t think it through – didn’t have time. Punk tends to listen to what his gut is telling him.’

     ‘And most of the time, it works out,’ Colt added, trying to find a sliver of positivity from the night’s events. ‘H-how long will he be in there?’

     ‘Could be weeks, could be longer,’ Sami interjected sadly from his spot on the bed. ‘I only shared food and was in there for two months. Punk attacked a guard so -‘

     ‘Months?’ Colt spluttered. ‘We don’t have months.’

     ‘Exactly,’ Reigns said, his tone so grave that every eye in the cell turned to face him. ‘We can’t afford to sit around and wait for however long he’s in there. The longer we’re in this place, the more we starve, the more they work us, the harder they grind us down and we’ll become weak. They will do everything they can to keep us here, escaping won’t be as simple as just walking out the door. We have to be prepared to fight and that means striking while we still have our strength.’

     ‘Are you seriously suggesting we just leave Punk behind?’ Colt’s voice was low in his throat, the sound of a bear seconds before it strikes.

     Reigns replied stoically. ‘It’s not a suggestion.’

     ‘You piece of shit,’ Colt whispered acidly. ‘He’s my best friend.’

     ‘And Dean is my brother,’ Reigns fired back, stern but calm. ‘We don’t have time to sit around and wait, we have to think of our own welfare. We can do more for them outside these walls than you can trapped between them, believe that.’

     Colt was losing the argument but he wasn’t willing to give up on his friend as easily as that. He turned to his ally in the hopes that he could fight the war of words for him. ‘Finn?’ Colt asked. The Irishman felt the weight of everyone’s attention on him. His anger was simmering now and he was thinking more clearly about their current situation and the results of that evening’s event. The more he contemplated their position the less he could look Colt in the eye. ‘Finn?’ Colt pleaded again, his voice weaker.

     ‘Even your friend agrees with what I’m saying,’ Reigns declared, but there was no triumph in his voice. ‘He’s suffered more than any of you these past few days and after tonight, after what Punk did, Carter will be gunning for him more than ever. Even I learnt to stay away from that bastard.’

     The door swung open revealing a fellow prisoner, gasping for breath. ‘Riot’s over,’ he panted. ‘Batista’s called an early curfew. Everyone’s to go back to their cells.’

     Sami hopped obediently to his feet and headed out of the door. Reigns paused for a second, looking between the two men inside, Finn standing awkwardly covered in his own blood while Colt sat dejected on his bunk. Reigns let out a sigh and told the pair to get a good night’s rest before departing, leaving the two men and an uncomfortable silence inside the cell.

     Now they were alone, the weight of the evening’s events bore down on the pair, especially Finn. Despite Punk’s intentions, Finn knew he held the majority of the blame for the Chicago natives’ incarceration in solitary by creating the opportunity for him to strike and now had suggested they leave him there, even though Punk had only taken the fall, partially, to protect him. He looked over to Colt who sat with his head bowed towards the floor and he nervously ran his tongue over his lips. He silently hobbled over and sat on his own bunk directly facing Colt. Rubbing his hands together, he let out a long, slow breath.

     ‘We’re not going to abandon him,’ he said softly to Colt. ‘We will get him out, but we can do so much more from outside this place. It was a stupid idea to hand ourselves in because now we’re stuck-‘

     ‘Carter,’ Colt said it loud and clear, halting Finn in his tracks. Finn gulped and slowly began to sit upright, watching as Colt lifted his head to lock eyes with the Irishman. His expression was dark, barely holding back the fury beneath the stony exterior. ‘The guard who’s been doing all this shit to you – it was Carter this whole time?’

     ‘Yes,’ Finn replied, ‘I thought you knew-‘

     ‘No, I didn’t,’ Colt shot back, his voice rising. ‘You stupid, fucking idiot.’

     Finn took offence to this sudden attack. ‘Careful, Colt,’ he warned but the wrath was too strong in the former wrestler for him to notice.

     ‘So this whole time, the whole reason you came here with us was for revenge?’ Colt growled at Finn.

     ‘No, that’s not it at all,’ Finn argued, feeling his own anger growing. ‘Ok, I’ll admit that in the beginning it had crossed my mind but it wasn’t the reason I agreed to the mission. I came first and foremost to help Punk find April-‘

     ‘Bullshit,’ Colt spat.

     ‘I’m telling the truth,’ Finn argued. ‘I wanted to fulfill my promise to him. That’s why I came. If I managed to find Carter in the process and make him feel as weak as he made Bayley feel, even better.’

     ‘Even if it meant putting the rest of us in danger?’

     ‘I snapped,’ Finn admitted. ‘Just being near that creep makes my blood boil. I can’t stop thinking about what he did to her. It makes me so angry I can’t control it.’

     ‘So you purposely went out of your way to sabotage this mission?’ Colt was so enraged his hands were balled into fists and shaking furiously.

     ‘Believe me, _this_ is not what I had in mind,’ Finn fired back. ‘I didn’t ask for this.’

     ‘Really?’ Colt retorted sarcastically. ‘So out of, what a hundred or so people in this place, he just happened to target you? Wow, some coincidence!’

     ‘Look, if you just let me talk-‘

     ‘Why did he go after you, Finn?’ Colt yelled, getting to his feet. Finn’s body jolted, the survival instinct in him telling him to fight this threat but the more evolved part of his brain reminded him that this was his friend and he was angry. He had to talk him down, not put him down.

     ‘The other day, in the vineyard…’ he finally said, keeping his voice as calm as he could muster, ‘I saw Carter harassing Josie.’

     ‘What the fuck did you do?’ Colt groaned.

     ‘The right thing,’ Finn shot back. ‘What any one of us would do. I stopped him.’

     ‘So you set yourself up to be a target?’ Colt accused Finn.

     ‘No! Are you even listening to a word I’m-’

     ‘You just said-‘

     ‘Look, none of this way part of a plan,’ Finn’s eyes were growing sharper by the second. ‘You really think I wanted some guy to come into my room and…’ Finn cut himself off.

     ‘And…?’ Colt dared the Irishman to go on. ‘Why was he in our room, Finn? Tell me!’

     ‘You know what, forget it,’ Finn shook his head in defeat, seeing he was going nowhere. For now, he would have to wait for Colt’s anger to simmer out.

     ‘Did Bayley put you up to this?’ Colt barked.

     Finn froze. He slowly lifted his head up to face the Chicagoan, his eyes narrowed. ‘What?’ he growled at Colt.

     ‘You heard me. Did she tell you to come here?’ Colt asked again.

     ‘You know the answer to that,’ Finn warned him.

     ‘I guess I do,’ Colt shrugged. ‘I remember her last words to you before we left for Eden.’ Finn stared back at him, his face full of malice. ‘She put something in your hand and said it was to remind you to keep your promise. What did she give you? A weapon, a knife?’

     ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Finn snarled.

     ‘What did you promise her, Finn?’ Colt waited for an answer but Finn kept his lips pursed tightly. ‘WHAT DID YOU PROMISE HER?’

     ‘THAT I WOULD COME BACK ALIVE!’ Finn pounced to his feet, shouting out at the top of his lungs. Colt had pushed him and pushed him and now, at the mention of Bayley, Finn was once more at the mercy of his anger. ‘You really think I would go and purposefully put myself in danger when I made a vow that I would make it back in one piece?’ Colt was struck dumb and Finn took the opportunity to finally fight his corner. ‘At first, I didn’t even want to come because I felt she needed me more. I was torn between my promise to her and my promise to Punk. _She_ was the one who insisted I go, not for revenge, not for her own vendetta but because she could see how uncomfortable I was leaving you two to go it alone.’

     ‘I’m sorry, I just-‘ Colt tried to explain but Finn cut him off.

     ‘I can’t believe you think so little of her?’ Finn scolded him. ‘So you think she got close to me and confided in me just so I would feel sorry for her? So she could manipulate me to come here and kill Carter? You think she was using me?’ Colt shook his head but Finn was so angry he was blind to the gesture. ‘She’s not some scolded ex out for blood and she’s not some victim, consumed by hatred… she’s…’ he stumbled, trying to find the right words. ‘She’s a good person. She’s kind and warm-hearted. She has no room in her for hatred or anything negative. All she wants is to heal. She struggled to share what she’d been through with anyone else because she didn’t want to burden them with her pain. She didn’t want to break her smile, she wanted to be strong for everyone around her.’    

     Finn rubbed a hand over his hair and suddenly realised how much he was missing her. A sad smile came to his lips. ‘She chose to confide in me because she saw a reflection of herself.’ Finn looked up to face Colt. On seeing the pitying look on his friend, Finn felt a pang in his chest. That raw nerve of fear that he was revealing too much. The next words were already prepared in his mind but he couldn’t find the strength to reveal them. _I don’t… I can’t open up to people. I’ve had my trust broken so many times by so many people I called friends, brothers_. _Even you and Punk… I know you have my back but a part of me is waiting for the knife to slip in. What do they say? Once bitten, twice shy? I’ve been bitten too many times. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to put my full and complete trust in anyone ever again. But with her… I was at least starting to feel I could…_

‘I really am sorry, Finn,’ Colt said, scratching the back of his neck. ‘What I said…’

     ‘You were angry,’ Finn said, giving Colt a small smile.

     ‘Scared,’ Colt corrected him. ‘I’m scared.

     ‘We’ll get him out of there,’ Finn told him.

     ‘Yeah?’ Colt asked, his voice weak.

     ‘I promise,’ Finn replied without a waiver in his tone. ‘But for now, the two of us are on our own so we can’t afford to be at each other’s throats.’ He held out his hand and Colt shook it firmly. The argument was over and forgiveness had been given on both sides.

     ‘Let’s clean you up,’ Colt said, noting the dried blood clinging to Finn’s face and jaw. He went to pull off his T-shirt to use as a rag when Finn beat him to it, offering his discarded shirt that Carter had ripped in half. Colt eyed it warily, wandering what had caused such damage but didn’t pry. He dampened the shirt with water and began wiping the hardened blood off Finn’s face.

     ‘So,’ Colt tried to make conversation as the Irishman sat obediently, ‘what exactly did Bayley give you before we left?’

     ‘Not a knife,’ Finn retorted with a laugh. ‘Here, I’ll show you.’ He buried his hand in the pocket of his jumpsuit and started rummaging around. Colt pulled back as he noticed the younger man’s face scrunch up and his action become more panicked.

     ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked the Irishman.

     ‘I can’t find it,’ Finn replied, his eyes wide with dread. ‘It’s gone.’

  

     The night was heavy, pressing down on the large man’s broad shoulders as he trudged up the stairwell, his feet feeling as if they were trying to force their way through molasses. He marched along the corridor, his mind racing with excuses, each one dismissed as quickly as they were created. He paused outside the door, light shining dimly from underneath it, and tried to compose himself one last time.

     The door swung open and revealed Michael’s stern, tired face. ‘Come on in, Dave,’ he said and stepped aside to let the head guard in. Batista took a step into the huge room with his head bowed, his riot gear helmet still clutched in his hand. He looked up briefly as the door behind him shut and he took in his surroundings. The room was stifling, a fire roaring in the hearth. The owner of the large office was sitting in one of two armchairs beside the fire, a large imposing man in his forties with a shaved head and well-kept beard. His face was etched with solid lines but instead of aging the man, they made his features more dominant. The man looked and acted the part of a leader, one who could instill admiration and fear in his followers. Batista felt both at that very moment.

     ‘What happened to your face?’ the man asked, his voice like rocks rattling around a beer can.

     ‘Not my blood, sir,’ Batista replied.

     ‘What the hell went wrong, Dave?’ Michaels took over, collapsing into the vacant armchair.

     ‘We have a problem,’ Batista replied. ‘It’s the new recruits. They’re trouble.’

     ‘The new ones always are,’ Michaels waved away his claim. ‘Have your men wear them down – they’ll soon fall into line.’

     ‘We’ve put their leader in solitary,’ Batista disputed. ‘But I’m worried that it’s not enough. He seems to have an effect on the rest of the citizens, get everybody riled up. I’ve never seen anything like it before.’

     ‘Look Dave, we put you in charge after Cena disappeared because we trusted you to keep all of those workers in order,’ Michaels scolded the head guard. ‘If you’re not up to the job then we’ll just have to-‘

     ‘Hold on, Shawn,’ his companion piped up. ‘This leader you spoke of, that has an ‘effect’ on the rest of the workers, tell me about him.’

     ‘Jumped up kid with a bad attitude. Big mouth on him too.’

     ‘You should see the guy, Hunter,’ Michaels chipped in. ‘Tats all the way up his arms, he’s a bum!’

     ‘Why he of all people gets such a reaction from the citizens, I don’t know,’ Batista shook his head. ‘ I don’t get it.’

     ‘His name?’ Hunter asked.

     ‘CM Punk,’ Michaels told him.

     ‘What kind of name is that?’

     ‘It’s the one he gave me,’ Michaels shrugged. ‘Fits him though, he is a punk.’

    ‘What would you have me do, sir?’ Batista turned to Hunter.

     ‘It’s too early to panic,’ Hunter said to the pair. ‘This is just another blip and will blow over once the novelty of these new recruits wears off. In the meantime, follow the normal protocol. Keep him in solitary for a while, ration his food and water intake, regular beatings, the usual. Also, find out what you can about him, where he comes from, who he’s friendly with in here, when he goes to the bathroom, every single little detail and report back to me.’

     ‘Already on it, sir,’ Batista replied. ‘Thank you, gentlemen.’ He left the room and Michaels turned back to his friend.

     ‘So how long are you here for this time?’ he queried, bitterness evident in his voice.

     ‘A few days,’ Hunter replied, staring into the fire. ‘Until we organise the next load.’

     ‘How much longer before we drop this whole venture?

     ‘I don’t know. Steph’s working on her father as we speak.’

     ‘How is the Missus?’ The question was asked with contempt and Hunter shot his friend a glare, which put Michaels back in his place.

     ‘Tell me everything that’s happened recently,’ Hunter changed the topic as he took a swig from his wine.

 

     Wing A looked like a bomb had hit it. Tables and benches were upended, metals trays were strewn across the floor while splatters of food and blood lined the walls. It had been the worst riot Carter had witnessed and he had been right in the center of it.

     He rubbed his tender jaw, feeling the swelling all along the left side. It hurt like hell. That tattooed asshole had a mean right swing. As he walked through the turmoil, several of the guards asked him if he was ok. He could only nod back, unable to speak for the meantime until the swelling had subsided.

     At last, he reached the very spot where he had struck Finn that night. He thought of the moment that he had caught the pompous Irishman completely unawares, a beauty of a shot that landed squarely on his nose. Finn had gone tumbling back and barreled over a table, his tray of food exploding through the air. The memory made Carter laugh. He stopped suddenly as a fresh wave of pain hit his jaw.

     The floor was still caked in Finn’s blood. Watching that arrogant foreigner bleed like a stuck pig had been a joy to Carter. He hoped to see it again soon. Then he would finally learn his place on the food chain.

     At last, Carter spotted the object of his quest. His baton, which he had dropped during the melee was underneath one of the few standing tables. He reached underneath to grab it when something else caught his eye. He reached over to pick it up, finding it to be made of wood. He only scrutinised the strange little carving for a second when his whole body jolted with recognition. Hatred blared in his cold grey eyes as he tightened his fist, threatening to crush the tiny figurine between his fingers.


	44. Hard Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep safe out there, everyone!

     The atmosphere in the mess hall the next day was palpable. Tension was still in the air, heightened even more by the presence of additional guards, every one of them armed with a baton. The prisoners were ushered through the queue quickly and watched closely. None more so than Punk’s associates as they grabbed their breakfast and sat down.

     ‘I count at least ten of them looking in our direction right now,’ Finn said, eyeing up the sentinels around them.

     ‘Ignore them,’ Colt warned him, casting a wary eye around the hall himself. ‘We need to start keeping a lower profile or else we’ll join Punk in solitary.’

     ‘How’d you think he’s doing in there?’ Finn asked, his voice strained.

     ‘He’s tough,’ was all Colt could reply with. It had been the same thing he had been reminding himself over and over since Punk had been taken away.

     Finn nodded. The silence resumed between them. Since their argument last night had been shakily resolved, the pair hadn’t spoken much, preferring to be alone with their thoughts. Both sported bags under their eyes, creases trenched down their foreheads and shoulders tense. Colt was more fidgety than usual, constantly rapping his knuckles or scratching the back of his neck while Finn was as still and unreadable as a statue in some long-forgotten garden, gaining moss.

     The rattle sounded signaling the workers to head outside. Finn heaved a long sigh as he pulled himself to his feet. He had managed to buy himself breakfast today but the watery porridge was sitting awkwardly in his empty stomach, making him feel queasy. Colt, seeing his discomfort, gave him a reassuring pat on the back as they walked towards the main doors. They barely breathed in the fresh morning air before two guards came striding towards them with their batons out, ready to strike at the first sign of trouble.

     ‘66036,’ the taller of the two guards addressed Finn, who eyed the two up suspiciously. ‘We’ve been assigned to escort you today.’

     ‘Where?’ Finn asked.

     ‘To your work station,’ the other man replied.

   A clinking sound pricked Finn’s ear. He spied the prison issued leg shackles and handcuffs in the guard’s hand and his heart lurched.

     ‘Are those really necessary?’ Colt interjected, trying to keep his voice calm as he spied the chains too.

     ‘He threatened a guard,’ one of the men responded, keeping his eyes locked on Finn. ‘We have every right to take precaution.’

     Something inside Finn’s head was screaming, clawing wildly to escape. Every single fibre of his being told him that there was something seriously wrong here and that he should get away as fast as he could. Yet, a single image of Punk confined in a tiny, damp cell all alone reminded him of their current predicament.

     ‘Ok,’ he relented and offered his hands out to be cuffed.

     ‘Finn…’ Colt murmured with worry.

     ‘Don’t worry about me,’ Finn whispered back as the guard snapped the metal shackles around his wrists. ‘I’m tough too.’

    

     April lay on the bed, her dark hair fanning out around her like a halo as she caught her breath. Her tanned skin was glimmering with sweat but what sparkled most was her smile. A worn out yet content smile threatening to burst with intense glee. Punk stared down at her, completely enraptured by her beauty.

     ‘Stop that!’ April scolded without even opening her eyes.

     ‘What?’ Punk grinned, his breathing deep.

     ‘Looking at me like some creep,’ April replied, this time cracking open one deep brown eye. ‘It weirds me out.’

     ‘I can’t help it,’ Punk shook his head. ‘You’re just so…’

     ‘What?’ April pushed him to finish his sentence.

     ‘You’re just so…’ Punk looked for the right word, ‘..angelic.’

     April snorted a loud laugh. ‘Pretty sure I won’t be getting into heaven after _that_. I think there’s a whole passage in the bible about what we just did.’

     ‘Ok, so you’re a fallen angel,’ Punk shrugged.

     ‘Ooh, I like that,’ April mused. ‘A fallen angel getting it on with an atheist. God will be so maaaaad.’

     ‘I mean it though,’ Punk said, his voice soft. ‘You are the most beautiful woman in the world.’

     April smiled back at him but there was a kind of sadness in her expression. ‘Hmm,’ she replied, stiffly.

     Punk’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’

     ‘Nothing, I’m sorry,’ April said, rubbing her eyes with the balls of her palms. ‘Ignore me, I’m just tired.’

     ‘No, Ape,’ Punk said, lightly grabbing her hands with his own and pulling them away from her face. ‘Talk to me. You know you don’t have to hide anything from me.’

     April looked into his hazel eyes. She was always putty in his hands as soon as he looked at her. His face was full of blunt, masculine features; his large, pointed nose with the disjointed bridge where he had broken it a few years back, his strong chin lined with thick stubble, bushy, flat eyebrows and long, stringy hair. It was a face that shouldn’t, by definition, be handsome. But then she would see his eyes. His soft, captivating eyes. Two pearls of incredible beauty, pastel brown in colour but when hit by the light would give the impression of a radiant olive green. Night or day they held a sparkle. She couldn’t fight against his gaze.

     April pulled herself up to a sitting position and Punk sat back on his knees to give her room. She took in a deep breath, mulling over her thoughts for a few seconds before fixing him with a piercing look.

     ‘Do you miss me?’ she asked.

     Punk looked confused. ‘Miss you, but you’re right here,’ he replied.

     ‘No, I mean,’ April hunted for the right words. ‘When we’re not together, do you miss me?’

     ‘Ape, I see you more than I see my own couch,’ Punk chuckled.

     April rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue. He wasn’t getting it. Maybe if she tried explaining.

     ‘You see,’ she told him. ‘Sometimes, when I’m in my apartment in Tampa and you’re in yours in Chicago or wherever, I find myself missing you.’

     ‘Missing what we just did?’ Punk gave her a smarmy grin.

     ‘Well, yeah,’ April shrugged with a smile, ‘but not just that. I miss your company. I miss talking about stupid things like the latest Walking Dead, or if they’ll ever make a Batman V Superman film. I even miss you talking about sport.’

     ‘You feeling alright?’ Punk asked, now looking concerned. ‘You _never_ like it when I talk about sports. As soon as I mention the Cubs your eyes glaze over.’

     ‘I just…miss your voice, I guess,’ April sighed, looking down at her hands, which were fidgeting in her lap.

     ‘Ape,’ Punk nudged in closer to her and gently lifted her chin up with the tips of his fingers. Her eyes were glassy. ‘Ape, what are you saying?’

     She looked into those hazel eyes once more. She searched them, looking for any sign that he was on the same page as her. Her heart fluttered before drooping towards the ground.

     He didn’t get it.

     ‘I don’t know,’ she sighed, giving up. ‘Like I said, I’m just tired.’

 

     Punk’s entire body jerked and he was awake.

     ‘Ape?’ he called out, jolting up to look around him. Immediately he winced on feeling sharp pain radiate from every part of his body. A constant pounding in his head hurt his eyes and he screwed them shut to try and quell the ache. Once the pounding had subsided to a minor thudding, he opened his eyes again, though he could barely tell the difference from when he had them shut, the darkness was so thick around him.

     ‘Ape?’ he tried again, his voice weaker this time as doubt crept in. ‘April? Are you there?’

     Silence. His heart sank as he confirmed he had been dreaming about her again. A dream that had seemed so real.

     He didn’t want to think about that. Instead he tried to focus on his strange surroundings. Despite being awake for a few minutes now, his eyes were not adjusting to the darkness that had swallowed him up. The sensation of being effectively blind was dizzying; his eyes, having nothing to focus on, were now rolling around in his sockets aimlessly. He shook his head to try and guide them back to normal but the result only lasted for a few minutes. He decided he couldn’t just sit around. He had to figure out exactly where he was, what was hiding in the thick shadows around him and more importantly, how he was going to get out.

     Punk went to stand when a stabbing sensation burst through his middrift, forcing him back down. The sudden jolt of agony triggered him to cry out in pain. It was then that he heard the voice.

     ‘Shut up in there!’

     Punk froze, waiting to hear that sound again but only silence ringed through his cell. Must have been his imagination.

     It took him everything he had but he finally managed to pull himself up to his knees, feeling whoozy as he did so. He held his head in one hand, leaning against a damp wall to steady himself until the dizziness passed. Only, it didn’t pass.

     ‘APRIL!’ he shouted out. He couldn’t get to the door in his present state but he would still try to find her. ‘APE! CAN YOU HEAR ME? I’M HERE, APE, YELL IF YOU CAN HEAR ME!’

     ‘Shut up!’ The same voice as before shouted in response. ‘I’m only telling you one last time. Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!’ A clang of solid metal being struck punctuated every word it said. Punk now knew for sure that he wasn’t alone. He peered into the darkness, trying to see who was with him.

     ‘Who’s there?’ he asked, unable to see an inch in front of him.

   ‘The guy who will kill you and dismember your corpse if you don’t let him sleep,’ the voice growled back.

     ‘Charming,’ Punk noted sarcastically. There was a strange tininess to the man’s disembodied voice, as if it was being spoken through a bad cell connection. It also appeared to be coming from Punk’s left. He reached out a hand, ignoring the complaining from his throbbing middrift and probed, finding nothing but stone wall. His knitted his eyebrows together; he was sure he’d heard the voice coming from this direction. He fumbled about in the darkness, getting lower and lower until he found the perpetrator. A small, metal grate, measuring only 10 inches square.

     _So that’s where it’s coming from_ , Punk mused to himself, running his fingers over the rusted metal, feeling the indents of ventilation holes, _he’s in the cell next to mine._ He went to ask the stranger another question but thought better of it. The mood the guy was in, if Punk probed any further, he might just collect on his grisly warning.

     Punk located another wall close behind him and carefully leant back with a wince, feeling his entire body quiver. The stones that hit his back were made of solid ice as far as he knew, the frosty sensation blasting over his back and neck. Dampness trickled through the layers of his jumpsuit and shirts, reaching his vulnerable skin, turning it to pimples and making his teeth chatter. He didn’t mind it though; at least it gave his senses something real to focus on, proving he wasn’t still stuck in a dream.

     His hand softly caressed his mid-drift and he winced as the tender skin below relayed the message of pain back to his brain. He unzipped his jumpsuit and inserted his palm under his shirt to inspect his stomach area. His fingers climbed several lumps of swelling; coupled with the sudden waves of pain that made his body jolt, he could tell the bruising around his stomach was as black as the room around him. Clearly, it had been a favoured target of the guards who had dragged him there and judging by the similar sensation he had on his shoulders and lower back, it had not been the only part of him they had pounded with their heavy boots. The thudding in his head suddenly screeched and he closed his eyes, grunting through his teeth while he kneaded his throbbing temples with his fingers.

     She was there again. A ghostly figure wrapped in crumpled bedsheets, hair ringing her head like a halo.

     ‘No,’ he coughed out, opening his eyes again to try and escape the painful image but the vision remained, projecting onto the darkened room around him. He pushed himself further against the back wall, desperate for the icy blast to distract his thoughts but it failed. He was trapped in a tiny cell with no light to tell him the passing of day nor to pick out the details of the bare room, his body too broken and battered to stand and no other soul to speak to. He was alone with his thoughts and they were forcing him to confront the image from the dream he’d just had. He had no other choice but to face it.

     So he sat. And he remembered her.

 

     Colt wandered between the tomato vines, the purest embodiment of misery. His shoulders were hunched, his head bowed and his face sunken in. Every movement he made was slow and limp as if he had heavy weights strapped to his limbs. He never uttered a word nor bothered to look around him, instead focusing on the task at hand and counting down the minutes until the end of the day.

     A flash of red among the green caught his eyes and he bent down to inspect it further. His fingers curled around the large, ripe tomato when he suddenly felt something else at its base. Something warm and solid. He nearly shrieked in horror as a second hand came whistling out through the foliage and grabbed onto his wrist but a voice hastily shushed him. He caught his breath as a face manifested itself through the greenery, pale skin mottled by the shadows of the leaves in the cruel sunlight.

     ‘It’s only me,’ the face informed Colt and he stared at it dumbfounded.

     ‘Luci?’ he spluttered. ‘How the-? When did-?’

     ‘I jumped the wall,’ Luci informed him, yanking him down until he sat on his haunches. Colt glanced over at the towering structure that closed off the community from the outside world. It had to stand around twenty feet tall.

     ‘How the hell did you-?’ he asked in amazement but Luci cut him off.

     ‘Not important,’ she cut in. ‘Seth just told me that Punk’s in solitary confinement. Is this true?’

     ‘How did he know that?’ Colt asked just as the answer hit him. ‘Reigns,’ he muttered under his breath.

     ‘So it’s true,’ Luci’s shoulder fell with resignation and she finally released her grip on Colt’s wrist as she sat back on her rump. ‘Shit.’

     ‘April’s in solitary too.’

     ‘Double shit!’

   ‘But we’ve found a way out,’ Colt told her, trying to fill her in on as much as possible.

     ‘I heard,’ Luci replied but her expression told him that her mind was busy elsewhere. ‘Through the sewers. I’ve got Seth scouting them out as we speak.’

   Colt mulled over whether to say the next sentence he had poised on his lips. He was terrified that he wouldn’t get the right response from her but he sensed in her an ally who would share the same thinking. ‘The others want to leave as soon as possible,’ he muttered. Luci’s head shot up and she fixed him with a piercing glare.

     ‘And leave Punk behind?’ she spat. Colt’s heart sped up – that was exactly the reaction he had hoped from her.

     ‘I don’t agree with it either,’ he assured her. ‘I can’t just go and leave my best friend behind, not knowing where he is or what they’re doing to him.’ He paused, biting the inside of his cheek. ‘But I also get where the others are coming from. It’s tough in here, Lu, fucking tough. I’m doing ok but Reigns has been here longer than us and as for Finn-‘

     ‘You and I both know that Reigns will power through,’ Luci dismissed his argument. ‘That guy is a machine. You saw the things he could do back in New Chicago. A little longer in here won’t faze him.’

     ‘Yeah but Finn-‘

     ‘The same goes for Finn,’ Luci argued, her eyes blazing now. ‘That guy beat Seth fricking Rollins one-on-one for crying out loud. He can last another week or so.’

     ‘It could be months before they release Punk,’ Colt warned her. ‘He attacked a guard. They won’t be letting him out in a hurry.’

     ‘Leave it to me,’ Luci said, her face setting with determination.

     The sound of heavy boots approaching spooked the pair and Colt rapidly returned up onto his haunches and pretended to fumble around, looking for more ripe tomatos as Luci skulked back into the shadows. The guard walked by, only briefly glancing at Colt before walking on. He watched the man in the khaki shirt retreat further away, letting out a shaky breath as the danger passed.

     ‘I’ll be in touch,’ Luci whispered from her hiding place. ‘Hang in there for now and for the love of God, be careful, Scotty.’

     ‘You too, Lulu,’ he uttered as he listened to the rustle of leaves, telling him she was edging her way back towards the wall. ‘You too.’

 

     Of course his dream had felt so real because it had been real. It was a memory more than a dream - their last moments together in that hotel room back in Canada. After that conversation, they had snuggled under the covers and slept entangled in each other’s arms. When Punk woke the next day, she was gone. Her side of the bed had gone cold, her suitcase was missing and there was nothing but a note etched with her lipstick left on the side table. It was at that very moment that he finally understood what she had been trying to explain the night before.

     He missed her.

     It was as if the earth shifted and he knew things would never be the same again. Life without her seemed empty, like a cold Chicago day when the clouds blotted out the sky. She brought meaning to his world, like the dawn rising and turning the shades of grey around him into bright, mesmerising colour. He wanted to be by her side every day, to see her smile, to make her laugh, to hold her when she cried. He wanted to get overly competitive together as they played video games, he wanted to get bored as she dragged him to shops she loved, he wanted to have tense, heated arguments then fall into bed to make up. He wanted all of it, the good and the bad, so long as it was with her. What’s more, she had told him the very night before that she had wanted the same.

     And as usual, he had messed up. If he was honest with himself, he knew what she was getting at when she tried to open up to him, but some part of him was still unsure, still scared, and he had acted the ignorant fool long enough for her to drop the subject. Commitment had always been something he’d reserved for his career before the women in his life. It’s not that he wasn’t a good friend – he was on good terms with most of his exes – it’s just that he wasn’t a good boyfriend. He was so determined and focused on what he wanted but all of that went into his wrestling. He would travel the length and breadth of the country, he would book shows on birthdays, on Valentine’s day, on Thanksgiving and Christmas. He would agree to meet his girlfriends’ parents, then, when he inevitably double booked himself, he would choose work over her. He was selfish and moody and pigheaded.

     But he was willing to change. For her. For April.

     He wasn’t getting any younger and in his line of work, he knew he only had a few good years left in him. Soon, he would start to wind down and once the whirlwind was over, what would he be left with among the debris? He often thought of the day he’d retire and each time he was with someone, he would imagine the life they’d have together after he hung up his boots. None of them ignited excitement within him… until he met April.

     Their relationship was one he couldn’t describe. It had felt as explosive as a firework yet had been slow and gradual at the same time. Perhaps, he knew from the very start that this woman was special and didn’t want to blow it. From the moment he introduced himself, he had felt a connection with her that he could never form enough words to describe. As they’d gotten to know each other, he discovered they shared interests and had the same bleak sense of humour. He found it very natural to laugh when he was around her.

     The more they spoke, the deeper their connection became. He remembered the day he was in Tampa. They had planned to go to the gym together but she’d blown him off at the last minute. He had tried to shrug it off but as he worked out, the notion that something strange was up kept nipping at him until he couldn’t stand it any longer. He abandoned his session early and turned up unannounced at her doorstep. He remember every detail of how she’d looked that day, dressed in grey slacks and an oversized Ninja Turtle shirt, her hair tied in messy pigtails and not a single brush of make up on her face. She had never looked more beautiful as she stared slack-jawed at him.

     ‘Punk?’ she’d blurted out, her face flushing with embarrassment and shame.

     ‘I just wanted to check in on you,’ Punk had said, scratching the back of his neck, ‘make sure you were ok.’

     ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ The bridge of her nose scrunched up when she was confused. It made him smile.

     ‘Well… you told me you were sick,’ he noted.

     ‘Ohhh,’ she said as realisation dawned. ‘Well, yeah, yeah I am…’ she made a pathetic attempt to cough.

     ‘Look, if you didn’t want to meet me, you could have just told me,’ he said, his hand moving to scratch his beard now. ‘You know I prefer it when people are just honest.’

   ‘No, no that’s not it,’ April protested, putting her hands up defensively. ‘I did want to meet you… I just…’ She glanced around her, looking down the empty corridor to her left and right. ‘Come in. Please?’

     It had been the first time Punk had ever been inside her apartment. He had escorted her back several times to make sure she got home safe after late shows since discovering she lived in a bad neighbourhood but, ever the gentleman he had walked her as far as the door to make sure she locked it before he left. Punk looked around the small but welcoming space that was as bright and colourful as its tenant. A two-person sofa bed rested against one wall, facing the old TV set on a unit lined with figurines of her favourite comic book characters. The only other notable piece of furniture was a large bookcase stuffed with so many comics and novels that the shelves bent in the middle, creaking under the pressure. Punk glanced over some of the titles and nodded approvingly at her taste in literature, already mentally gathering a list of his own collection to lend her in the future.

     ‘Here, have a seat,’ she offered an edge of the pulled down sofa bed, hastily brushing aside an army of plushy toys, most of which were Pokemon themed. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’ she asked, making her way towards the tiny kitchenette at the far end of the room.

     ‘Coffee would be great,’ he said, sitting down on the vacated spot on the bed. He let out a chuckle at the artwork on her wall. A massive poster of Harley Quinn dominated the space like a great glass stain window of an icon in a church.

     ‘So… this is your place, huh?’ Punk said, trying to keep the conversation going.

     ‘Pretty much,’ April replied as she fumbled about in the kitchen cupboards. ‘Bathroom through that door and my roommate Celeste’s room is through the other.’

     ‘Where do you sleep?’ Punk asked, a crease forming between his brows.

     ‘You’re sitting on it?’ April replied with a shy chuckle.

     ‘You don’t have your own room?’ Punk exclaimed.

     ‘This _is_ my own room,’ April said, waving her arms around to indicated the tiny space. ‘Celeste even let me put my crap all over it to make it feel more like home.’

     ‘I see,’ Punk said, his voice small. He felt a pang of guilt about his luxurious, five bedroom penthouse back in Chicago.

     ‘Here,’ April said, handing him a steaming coffee in a Batman themed mug, causing him to chuckle again as he thanked her. ‘Look about today-‘

     ‘You don’t need to explain-‘ Punk tried to wave her apology off.

     ‘No, but I want to,’ she cut in. ‘I can trust you right?’

     ‘Of course you can,’ he said, putting the cup down on the TV unit as he noted the serious tone in her voice. ‘April, if anything’s wrong you can tell me. I promise I won’t tell another soul.’

     ‘I know you won’t,’ April said with a smile as she looked down into her coffee still swirling around the mug from when she’s stirred in the cream. ‘I’m just… scared.’

   ‘Why? Has somebody said something to you?’ Punk asked, feeling his anger rising. ‘Has something threatened you?’

     ‘No, nothing like that,’ she corrected him, still not looking at him. ‘I’m just scared that…. you’ll treat me differently.’

     ‘April,’ he placed a finger under his chin and lifted it gently to make her look at him. She was chewing her bottom lip. ‘I’m your friend and nothing’s gonna change that. Talk to me.’

     She took a long gulp from her mug and swallowed it down carefully. ‘I didn’t come meet you today because… I’m kinda going through a cycle.’

     Punk snorted out a laugh and April eyed him strangely. ‘Jesus, is that all? April, that’s perfectly natural. I wouldn’t even have-‘

     ‘NO! NO!’ she stopped him, throwing back her head and laughing. ‘No, I didn’t mean that, you idiot.’ She stopped until her laughing had subsided. She was smiling again and that made Punk happier. It also seemed to have a positive effect on her too as she found the confidence to finally say what was on her mind. ‘When I was in college, I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.’ She looked over to Punk to judge his reaction and found the smile had wiped from his face. She carried on regardless. ‘My mom has it so I guess I inherited it from her. I’m taking medication for it and every so often I go see a therapist and overall I’m managing it really well. It’s just that, well, it’s hard to explain… I go through cycles. Sometimes I’m super hyped up and I want to go out and do things and meet people and have the best time ever… then other times I go through a depressive cycle where I… don’t…’ she noted the look on Punk’s face which had turned to one of horror. ‘Shit, I should haven’t said anything, I’m really sorry.’

     ‘No, I’m glad you told me,’ Punk butted in, his hand brushing over hers and making her blush. ‘I just... I had no idea…’

     ‘It’s not like I would expect you to,’ April said with a shrug. ‘Most people aren’t exactly clued up on mental illness.’

     ‘But I am’ Punk corrected her. ‘My mom has Bipolar too.’

     ‘What?’ April’s mouth gaped open at the revelation. ‘I had no idea. When I met her at that show in Chicago, I never realised that-‘

     ‘No, I mean my biological mom. It’s part of the reason why we never really got on.’

     ‘You… wait, your _biological_ mom?’ she blurted out. ‘You’re adopted?’

     ‘Kinda. It’s a long story.’ Punk went to pick up his coffee cup and sensing the hundreds of questions popping up in April’s mind at both of the revelations he’d just shared, he quickly focused the conversation back onto her. ‘So when you said cycle, you meant you’re going through a depressive cycle.’

     ‘Uh, yeah,’ she nodded, still trying to get her head around what he’d just told her. Until now, he had always been just CM Punk, a wrestling hero she’d admired for so long who happened to like similar stuff to her and seemed to tolerate her hanging around him. Now, they were sitting in her apartment, bearing their souls to one another.

     ‘So what do you do when you go through one of these cycles?’ Punk asked.

     ‘Mainly just sit around the house, eat pizza and binge-watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer,’ she said with a shrug.

     ‘Sounds good,’ Punk said, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll order the pizza, you get the show ready.’

     ‘Wait, what? No, you really don’t have to stay.’

     ‘I want to,’ Punk assured her. ‘I was looking forward to spending some time with you today and if this is what you wanna do, then this is what we’re doing.’

     His heart sang as he spied the smile engulfing her face and in that moment he knew she had the hooks in deep already. They talked the entire night, revealing things to each other that they’d never shared with another living soul. It would take until their next encounter for them to kiss for the first time, which swiftly led to them sharing a bed for the first time. It was far from the last.

     Yet, despite all of their connection on both a physical and emotional level, he had always felt the need to hold back those important words. Love, commitment. He’d always come up with a good reason why but lying in that hotel room next to that cold, empty patch all of those good reasons became nothing but pathetic excuses. He wanted her, no he _needed_ her in his life and he’ll be damned if he let her slip through his fingers. That’s when he decided to catch the first flight to Tampa.

     He’d been so naïve of the horror that was unfolding across his home country at that very moment. Now, sitting locked up in a cold cell in the bowels of some prison camp, Punk could fully feel the anguish of his idiocy. All he had to do was keep his cool for a little longer, just enough time to think of a plan. Instead, his impatience had landed himself in here with no chance of escape until the guards deemed him punished enough. Sami had spent two months in those dark cells for merely sharing food. How long would Punk receive for attacking a guard? Six months? A year?

     He couldn’t wait that long. He was so close, so agonizingly close and stone walls were not going to hold him back. He had to find a way out of there now.

     It was then that a small sound reached his ears. A clanking noise coming from several feet in front of him. He tried to penetrate the darkness, peering hard into the black. A flash of light blinded his weak eyes, a light that was blocked as quickly as it had appeared by a stampede of black-clad bodies crashing into the room towards him. He only had time to cover his head as the blows began to pummel him down, fists, boots and nightsticks smashing into his injured body as he lay prone on the hard stone floor.

 

     Colt trundled into the mess hall, his body heavy and his head bowed. He had just endured the loneliest day of his life and having no one to converse with nor anything to keep his mind from wandering, he had spent the whole day worrying about his friends. The final image of Finn being dragged away, heavy chains clinking as he disappeared from sight haunted him. He thought of the humiliating task they had forced him to do the day before and could only speculate what fresh hell they had in mind for him today. He also thought of Punk, rotting away in a cold, damp cell, slowly being starved to death. The thought made him nauseous, particularly when that vile little notion at the back of his skull kept creeping into the light to torture him. A picture of Punk being lead by guards out of the building, out of Eden altogether, and taken to a remote part of the city. Made to kneel, he sits and sees before him a mass of dead bodies almost filling a large, shallow grave. It’s then he hears the sound of a safety catch go off behind him.

     Colt shuddered and shook the thought away quickly. Finn had mentioned how people vanished without a trace in this place, Reigns had lost his Shield brother, Ambrose, within days of entering this lion’s pit but he refused to believe that Punk would be Eden’s next victim. They had come too far and endured so much. He would never quit, not when they were so close. And yet… that notion stayed with him, hiding in the shadows of his mind. He could see it moving, but only from the corner of his eye.

     Colt collected his evening meal, eager to find Finn and have some actual human conversation. Even just seeing him alive and well before him would be enough to appease some of his anxieties. He scanned the room, seeking out his friend, feeling his heart sink deeper as he came up empty. His mind began to race again. _Where is he? Shouldn’t he be done by now? Did something terrible happen-? He threatened a guard’s life… did they…?_

Colt found Sami and made a beeline for him. The redhead looked up as Colt sat opposite him. ‘Oh hey,’ he said. ‘How was your day?’

     ‘Shit,’ Colt spat out as he slammed himself down on the bench. ‘Have you heard anything about Punk?’

     ‘Are you kidding me,’ Sami looked at Colt like he was mad. ‘All anybody can speak about right now is Punk.’

     ‘I mean, about how long he’ll be down there or how he’s doing. Anything like that?'

     ‘No, nothing,’ Sami sighed dejectedly.

     ‘They must know roughly how long they’re keeping him down there?’ Colt protested. ‘How many weeks or months.’

     ‘It’s not like there’s any set rules,’ Sami pointed out. ‘It’s not like they go ‘right, you stole food, that’s eight weeks, or ‘you attacked a guard, that’s six months’-‘

     ‘Six months!’ Colt butted in. ‘He could be down there for six months.’

    ‘No, that’s what I’m trying to tell you,’ Sami said, trying not to upset Colt too much. ‘The ‘sentences’ could be affected by so many different factors; it’s not just based on the crime.’

     ‘And what factors could affect Punk’s sentence?’ Colt pushed further.

     ‘Things like…’ Sami leaned in close to try and muffle they conversation among the hustle of their neighbouring citizens, ‘… his past behavior, like that tirade he had against Mizanin on his first day here, how important he is to the work force, how…’ his voice lowered even further, ‘… how everybody else in here responds to him.’

     Colt’s eyes widened with horror. ‘Last night, after he went for Carter… there was a riot.’

     Sami leant back as Colt finally understood what he was getting at. ‘Punk attacked a guard, that’s serious enough. But to cause a full on uprising last night; it’s gonna take some time to get the heat off of him.’

   Colt’s shoulders slumped. ‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’

     ‘Life in solitary is pretty routine,’ Sami went on. ‘You just sit in a dark cell and think about what you did. A meal comes once a day and normally a beat down. Least that was my own experience.’

     ‘A beat down…? Colt’s voice trailed off as a large grunt of someone clearing their throat sounded from above them and the two men turned to see the towering frame of Roman Reigns coming to sit beside them. ‘A word, Colt,’ Reigns said and it was clear from his tone he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

     ‘Sure,’ Colt replied flatly, ‘what is it?’

     ‘Your boy Devitt,’ Reigns said, ‘he was with us in hard labour today.’

     ‘Hard labour?’ Colt said aghast. ‘You’re fucking kidding me?’

     Reigns solemnly shook his head. ‘He’s pissed off the biggest asshole in this place,’ Reigns replied. ‘You gotta fix this or he won’t last another day.’

     ‘He’s tough,’ Colt argued but his voice was weak.

     ‘I know, I’ve seen him fight,’ Reigns reminded the Chicago native, ‘but he’s no powerhouse. He really struggled today. He was still there when my shift ended, working overtime to try and reach his targets. I’m telling you, get him out of there.’

     ‘How?’ Colt shot out with frustration. He wished more than ever that Punk was with him right now.

     Reigns looked behind him and motioned to Colt with his eyes. The former wrestler followed his gaze and found Carter leaning against the far wall. ‘What are you asking me to do here?’

     ‘He’s the one who put Devitt in hard labour,’ Reigns explained, clearly exhausted from having to explain himself. ‘He can get him out of it. Make a bargain with him. He’s the dirtiest guard here. Strike up a deal and he’ll ease up on your boy.’

     ‘I don’t know,’ Colt said, unconvinced. ‘The last time we spoke didn’t exactly end on good terms.’

     ‘You gotta try,’ Sami piped up. The Canadian looked the picture of worry, which told Colt how serious the situation was for Finn.

     ‘Do it for Devitt,’ Reigns ordered Colt, ‘or you’ll lose him just like I lost Dean.’

     ‘Ok,’ Colt resigned. ‘I’ll go talk to him.’

   Reigns and Sami watched as Colt got to his feet and walked towards Carter, the blonde guard clocking the former wrestler and watching him with narrowed eyes.

     ‘What?’ he asked bluntly once Colt was only a foot away.

     ‘I want to talk,’ Colt said, glancing nervously around him.

     ‘66036 volunteered to work extra,’ Carter told him, his voice flat and emotionless. ‘From what his guards told me, his work rate is pathetic.’

     ‘Cut him some slack,’ Colt locked eyes with the guard. Carter stared back with a venomous glare. ‘Please?’ Colt implored, his voice low. ‘I’ll give you all of my tokens if you can get him out of there.’

     Carter snorted with disgust. ‘I don’t need your fucking tokens,’ he scoffed.

     ‘Well, whatever you want,’ Colt shrugged, trying to regain control of the conversation, ‘it’s yours if you get Finn out.’

     ‘So you’ll suck my cock?’ Carter asked suddenly, his voice a sharp hiss.

     ‘What the fu-?’ Colt shook his head, trying to make sense of what he had just heard.

     Carter let out a mocking chuckle. ‘That’s what I thought,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘66036 stays where he is.’

     ‘You know what,’ Colt’s face was scrunched up with disgust, ‘you’re a real piece of shit.’

     ‘We’re done here,’ Carter waved Colt off. ‘You can go now.’

     Colt stormed away, his face lined with anger as he returned to Reigns and Sami. The pair looked at him with eyebrows raised.

     ‘So?’ Sami asked.

     Colt looked up at the smarmy blonde guard who leaned arrogantly against the wall with his arms crossed. He suddenly felt so alone and helpless. It scared him, those familiar feelings of anxiety creeping back inside him.

     ‘I don’t know what to do,’ he sighed.

     _I wish Punk was here_.

 

     Punk couldn’t move a muscle; the pain was so intense. He could feel it radiate through his nervous system paralyzing his every move. Even breathing distressed him as it rasped out through his open lips in small, stuttered puffs.

     He could only tilt his head slightly as the door opened and he watched April walk in. She gasped on seeing him lying on the couch, battered and bruised, visibly in an unbearable amount of pain.

     ‘That was brutal,’ she noted as she eased her way closer to him.

     Punk smiled a toothy grin at her as he rubbed a hand over his head, freshly shorn that morning. ‘What do you expect from a street fight?’ he mused.

     ‘He could have eased up a bit,’ April said with a deadly tone to her voice. ‘We’re wrestlers, not method actors. You look like you’ve been in an actual brawl.’

     ‘I think I was,’ Punk uttered as fresh coughing fit racked his body. ‘Least he didn’t hit me in the face.’

     ‘That’s true,’ she replied, a small smile creeping onto her face. ‘You’re still pretty.’

     ‘We spoke about this – the terms are ‘rugged’ and ‘handsome’,’ Punk corrected her and she finally let out a laugh. It was short-lived however.

     ‘You haven’t showered yet?’ she noted, spying the fact that he was still in his ring gear, the only addition being the white towel draped around his shoulders. ‘Do you need help?’

     ‘No, I’m good, I just needed a quick rest,’ he told her.

     ‘You don’t have to be afraid to ask me for help if you need,’ she warned him.

     ‘I’m fine. I’ll go shower now and meet you back at the rental in, say, twenty minutes?’

     ‘I can wait,’ April said as she leant back against the wall and folded her arms across her chest. They way she stared at him, she was daring him to make a move. He rolled his eyes, his teeth gnawing his lip ring with agitation at her stubbornness. The trouble was he was just as stubborn.

     He gingerly raised an arm up over the back of the couch, feeling the pain burning through him at the sudden movement. His lips clamped together to stifle his moans but his nose gave him away as his breathing became labored snorts. He tried to sit up but a sudden punch to the gut struck him and he had to lie back down to ease the discomfort.

     He could feel April’s eyes on him, which only resulted in irking him further. He inhaled deeply, taking large gulps of air to try and push through the pain. He went for it, putting all of his remaining strength into yanking his body up to a sitting position. This time, he succeeded and as he sat, poised on the edge of the couch as the worst pain he’d felt yet swelled up within him and he couldn’t stop the cry that wrenched from his lips.

     ‘Phil!’ April exclaimed and rushed towards him. As she neared him, she could see the naked skin on his back, spotted all over with red welts and dark purple bruising. Open gashes lines his shoulders and lower back, small trickles of blood rushing from the wounds down his pale flesh. ‘Jesus,’ she muttered as she eyed his nasty injuries.

     ‘It looks worse than it is,’ Punk tried to soothe her, breathing deeply as the agony inside him started to subside.

     ‘How many times did he hit you with that fucking chair?’ she spat, venom lacing her every word. Punk couldn’t help but smile at how protective she could get of him. He found himself hoping that his opponent from that evening had already left the building or April would tear him limb from limb. As much as he would enjoy the spectacle, he preferred to spend that night being nursed by the beautiful women at his side, not negotiating her bail fee.

     ‘It wasn’t really the chair,’ Punk admitted. ‘It was the kendo stick. They don’t look like much but man, do they sting. He really went to town on me with that fucking thing.’

     ‘Phil, you need to go see the doctor,’ April scolded him.

     ‘I’m fine, it’s just tender right now,’ he reassured her. ‘A warm shower and good night’s sleep and I’ll be right as rain.’

     ‘Phil, you always do this. Act the tough guy and make out that you’re not hurt.’

     ‘I’m not hurt.’

     ‘And I’m not blind. I can see the state of your back.’

     ‘It’s nothing.’

     ‘You’re so frustrating!’

   ‘ _I’m_ frustrating,’ Punk shot back but April ignored his remark.

     ‘I just don’t get you sometimes. I mean, I’ve seen you cry before-‘

     ‘There’s nothing wrong with crying now and then. It’s healthy,’ Punk argued with a shrug.

     ‘And there’s nothing wrong with asking for help,’ April responded. Punk clammed up and ground his teeth together. ‘What about your knee?’ she watched as he opened his mouth and cut him off. ‘Don’t you dare tell me it’s fine because I know it’s not. It’s been bothering you for weeks now and yet you still go out there and work on it. Last time you could barely stand after your match and I’ll bet my year’s takings that you can’t stand now.’

     ‘I can stand fine,’ Punk yelled at her.

     ‘Then prove it!’

     ‘I will!’

    ‘Then go on!’

     ‘Just watch me!’

     He positioned himself right on the edge of the couch, looking up at her and jutting his chin out defiantly. On the first attempt something gave out in his leg as he tried to stand and he flopped back onto the sofa. He gave a wry chuckle before trying again. With a grunt from deep within his throat, he pulled himself up to his feet and smirked triumphantly at April.

     ‘See?’ he sneered arrogantly. ‘Told you I could do it. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna shower.’ He turned to walk away and as he did so a jolt of pain erupted in his knee and it buckled completely under him. Fortunately April was there to guide his fall back onto the sofa.

     ‘Get off!’ he snapped and ungratefully shoved her away. She backed off, watching as he placed his hands over his face and let out a frustrated growl, muffled by his large palms. She wasn’t hurt by his actions; she knew he wasn’t angry at her. Both his body and pride had taken a brutal beating that night and she just needed to give him a minute to come to terms with that fact. She stood silently, letting her eyes fall on the iconic X’s, scrawled on the back on his taped up hands, a homage to his straight edge lifestyle. She watched and she waited, knowing that the next step was going to be difficult for him and allowed him to come to the inevitable conclusion in his own time.

     Finally, Punk lowered his hands and hung them limply in his lap. He looked up at her, letting out a deep sigh that sunk both of his shoulders.

     ‘I’m sorry,’ he said to her, his voice weak.

     ‘I forgive you,’ April said and waited.

     After a moment’s pause. ‘Can you help me… please?’

     ‘Always,’ she smiled brightly.

     Punk opened his eyes and suddenly everything had disappeared. The locker-room, the couch, the light. April. It had all dissolved into thick darkness. The pain remained though and it was throbbing. He lay on the wet, stone floor in the exact position the guards had left him after pummeling him senseless. Unlike before in the locker-room, he didn’t dare try to move, afraid to wake the beast of agony that was sleeping inside him in case it began to gnaw away at his insides.

     ‘You still alive in there?’ The voice sounded to his left again, it’s tone tinny and small as it forced its way through the tiny grate.

     ‘Thought you needed your beauty sleep,’ Punk shot back. When he spoke, it hurt but he was thankful for anything that tore him away from his memories.

     ‘It can wait,’ the voice replied. ‘Only two things you can do down here when you’re alone - sleep and think. I don’t care much for thinkin’.’ The voice stopped and the silence became filled with the drip-drip of water falling through the cracks in the ceiling and splashing against the stone floor. ‘Hurts like a bitch don’t it?’ the voice picked up again.

     ‘What, getting the shit kicked out of you?’ Punk retorted sarcastically. ‘Yeah, it fucking hurts.’

   ‘Not just the beating,’ the voice clarified. ‘I mean the fact you can’t get a single lick in before they take you down. Believe me, I’ve tried time and time again and the best I’ve got is one fucking punch that bounced right off the asshole’s helmet and broke one of my fingers.’

     ‘These beating a regular thing?’ Punk asked, feeling the chill numb his cheek that lay flush against the concrete. He suppressed a shiver as his wet jumpsuit clung around his skin like Saran wrap.

     ‘Every damn night,’ the voice said coldly. ‘Without fail, they come down here, dressed up in their finest gear and beat the living snot out of already beaten down men. S’nothing more than sport to them.’ It paused again before taking in a deep breath. ‘Gotta admit, I’d rather be _in_ their boots than being kicked in the head with them.’

     Punk furrowed his brow at the strange remark and was about to question its meaning when the voice piped up again.

     ‘What you down here for?’ it asked.

     ‘Punching a guard,’ Punk replied and heard the voice snort a laugh.

     ‘No shit, which one?’

     ‘Carter.’

     ‘Haha! That sick fuck had it comin’. Kinda jealous, really, I would have liked to clock him one myself.’

     ‘You seem to enjoy violence,’ Punk noted flatly, as he finally attempted to move his body, slowly easing it around so he could lie flat on his back.

     ‘Yeah, well, we all have our vices,’ the voice replied, breaking off in time for Punk’s grunt of pain to echo around the cold, damp walls as he settled into place. ‘You been here long? Eden, I mean.’

     ‘Four days,’ Punk gasped out as the pain slowly simmered back to numbness.

     ‘Holy shit!’ the voice guffawed. ‘Bit keen to jump into solitary, huh?’

     ‘Really wasn’t,’ Punk corrected as he closed his eyes and let out a long, weighty breath.

     ‘And here I was thinking I held the record,’ the voice continued laughing. ‘Five days I served before they tossed my sorry ass in here.’

     ‘How long you been down here?’ Punk turned his head slightly towards the voice. Finding a certain charm with his mysterious neighbor, he wanted to learn more about him.

     The voice let out a loud ‘ _pfft_ ’ as it tried to work out the math. ‘Honestly couldn’t tell you,’ he finally relented. ‘Could be weeks, could be months for all I know. Every day kinda meshes into one down here. Only clue you got to tell you the time of day is when they bring your grub in the evening. I tried to keep count but I got lost somewhere along the way.’

     ‘You know when they’ll let you out?’

     The wry chuckle rang out again and Punk rolled his eyes, knowing he would have to get used to that sound. ‘I don’t think they’ll ever let me see the light of day again. If they’re smart, they’ll leave me to rot down here.’

     ‘How come, what did you do?’ Punk asked, finding himself intrigued in spite of himself. Only the chuckle replied to his question.

     ‘So indulge me,’ the man changed the subject. ‘What did Carter do this time to warrant a beating?’

     ‘I didn’t give him much of a beating,’ Punk confessed as he turned his face towards the ceiling. He opened his eyes and closed them, only the movement of his optical muscles telling him their status as the darkness engulfed his sight every time. ‘Only managed a couple of punches before they pulled me off.’

     ‘Good punches?’ the voice asked with hopeful mischief.

     ‘Very good punches,’ Punk smirked smugly. ‘Right in the face.’

     ‘Nice. Break anything?’

     ‘Knocked out a tooth,’ Punk gloated as the voice burst out laughing. A strange sound that was equal parts comforting and disturbing. It bore the same sharp edge that his chuckle had.

     ‘I like you, man,’ the voice chirruped. ‘You’re way more fun than the last guy in here. Wimp just cried and begged the guards for mercy all the goddamn time. It’s nice to have someone with a backbone for a change.’

     ‘I don’t break easily,’ Punk stated, his voice flat and steady as a lake on a windless day.

     ‘Me neither,’ the voice replied. ‘Let’s rot down here together.’

     ‘Thanks for the offer,’ Punk said, ‘but I don’t planning on staying here long.’

     ‘You got somewhere to be?’

     ‘I got someone waiting for me.’

     ‘Someone special?’

     Punk made an affirmative sound though his lips. ‘Very.’

     ‘Nice,’ the voice replied with approval. ‘I got someone special too.’

     ‘Yeah?’ Punk queried. ‘Lady friend?’

     ‘You could say that,’ the voice said and Punk noted a difference in its tone as if it was suddenly quite shy. ‘We just started out, you know. Haven’t even told anyone yet – you’d be the first I guess.’

     ‘I’m flattered,’ Punk smirked.

     ‘God, I hate this,’ the voice groaned all of a sudden. ‘I like my own company, you know. Hate people, always have. But after god knows how many weeks down here, alone, I’m gushing away to a complete stranger like some clucking hen. What the hell have I become?’

     ‘Trust me, I get where you’re coming from,’ Punk said with a laugh. ‘Desperate times can change a person. I used to have this hang-up about appearing weak, even to those closest to me. Sometimes I’d be in so much pain I couldn’t walk but I would put on this brave face and make out like everything was ok. I hated asking for help even when I needed it most.’ Punk let out a long breath through his teeth as visions of that day in the locker room with April flashed before him. ‘Since the world went to hell, I can’t afford to be like that anymore. Not when you’ve got people, friends, relying on you.’

     ‘True,’ the voice agreed. ‘I got guys I rely on too, and who rely on me. You ever have friends in your life that were so tight, they were basically your family?’

     ‘Yeah,’ Punk sighed, sadly. He knew that feeling more than most.

     ‘Call them my brothers. They aint perfect but they sure as hell look out for me better than any of my shitty family ever did. Got my back through thick and thin.’ The voice cut off suddenly and the drip-drip took over. ‘One of em’ doesn’t know where the fuck I am, the other… hell, I don’t even know where _he_ is right now. We should have never come to this dump of a city.’

     Punk lifted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. ‘Ambrose?’ he called out.

     The drip-drip sounded again as the voice was stunned to silence. Almost an entire minute passed before the muffled sound of that wry chuckle filtered through the grate, small and tinny.

     ‘I’ll be damned… Brooks.’

    

     Colt was furiously pacing the floor of his cell, his mind tearing away inside his skull. Curfew was only a few short minutes away and there was still not a single sign of Finn. Reigns had mentioned that he had volunteered to work overtime but he had missed the evening meal completely and subsequently hadn’t made an appearance since. Colt’s finger was hovering dangerously over the panic button as he fretted tirelessly about his friend’s whereabouts. He had already lost Punk, he couldn’t afford to lose Finn too.

     His heart skipped a beat as the door to his cell was yanked open with a loud screech. The portal opened to reveal Finn standing with his shoulders slouched in the corridor, his wrists and ankles cuffed with a heavy chain connecting the two restraints. He was escorted by the same guards who’d taken him away earlier that day, Colt noted, and watched as one bent down to remove the shackles from the Irishman’s limbs. Once Finn was free the guard gave a sharp nod of the head for him to get inside the cell but as the former Bullet Club leader turned to enter the room, the guard lingering behind him kicked him viciously in the back, sending Finn crashing to the floor. The pair laughed like hyenas as they closed the door and locked it tightly.

     ‘Jesus, Finn,’ Colt cursed as he rushed to his friend’s side. He tried to pull him to his feet but the Irishman rag-dolled beneath him.

     ‘I’m alright, just give me a minute,’ Finn uttered to Colt, his face flushed with embarrassment.

     ‘I gotcha,’ Colt said, sweeping his arm up under Finn’s knees and carrying him over to his bunk where he placed the exhausted Irishman gently on the threadbare mattress. Once he was safely lying down, Colt checked him over and saw he was in a very bad way. Finn was filthy. As well as the large smudges of dirt on his face and arms, every inch of him was covered in a thick sheet of dust that turned his skin a strange saturated shade of yellow. Even his hair and beard, normally a deep, dark brown, were so densely smothered by the dust that it gave the impression of him being mousy blonde. His hands were black from dried mud, the filth packed under every single one of his fingers nails.

     Colt set to work, pulling off his T-shirt and dampening it with water to scrub the grime from his friend’s body. Finn lay still with his eyes shut, his chest heaving deeply with each raspy breath he took.

     ‘What did they do to you?’ Colt asked as he scoured Finn’s toned arm.

     ‘Took us out of the prison, way out,’ Finn said, his voice barely above a gasp. ‘Took us to this building, half falling down. Some had to break down the walls, some had to hammer the chunks back into single bricks, some were loaded up like mules and had to carry them back to the prison.’

     ‘Which one did you do?’ Colt asked with worry.

     ‘All of them,’ Finn replied, trying desperately to open his eyes but his lids felt as heavy as lead. ‘We rotated.’

     ‘Jesus, Finn,’ Colt sighed as he tried to pry the dirt out from under the Irishman’s fingernails.

     ‘I’m going back tomorrow,’ Finn told him. ‘I didn’t hit target. They said they’ll let me back into the garden once I reach target.’

     ‘Finn, it’s rigged,’ Colt warned the younger man. ‘Your targets… you’ll never reach them. They’ll make sure of that.’

     ‘I know,’ Finn replied, a small smile on his lips. ‘But I’ve got to keep trying. I need to get back here so I can help you bust Punk out of solitary.’

     Colt only nodded, feeling his emotions start to get the better of him. He bit his lower lip and instead focused on his task, squeezing the water out over Finn’s hair to purge it of the dust.

     ‘Finn, I’ve been thinking,’ Colt started and stopped. He took in a deep, shuddering breath before he continued. ‘All day in fact, about what we’re gonna do. I met Luci and she agreed with me that we just can’t leave Punk behind. He’s my best friend and I’m not gonna turn my back on him.’ Finn slowly bobbed his head to show his understanding. Colt squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to force the moisture back into their ducts. ‘But then Reigns told me you were in hard labour and how much you were struggling in there. He said you wouldn’t last another day. I tried to get you out of there, Finn. I really tried.’ Colt felt the fingers he was scrubbing softly tighten around his hand – Finn’s means of saying thank you. ‘Then you didn’t come back and I thought the worse.’

     He stopped to choke the sob erupting from his throat. ‘Finn, the fear is back! Ever since they took Punk away, I feel like I’m one second away from another panic attack and I can’t cope. You’ve no idea how relieved I was when that door opened just now and you were there. I-‘

     He stopped again and quickly dabbed away the one escaped tear with the back of his arm. ‘It’s not fair for me to make this choice,’ he spat. ‘I shouldn’t have to choose between my friends like this. But… if I stay here and do nothing, I’m gonna lose both of you.’ He looked down at Finn once more, the Irishman looking no better after Colt’s crude effort at cleaning him. Colt’s eyes scanned the Irishman’s face, drawn from hunger and exhaustion, black circles darkening his closed eyes while bags grew heavy beneath them. He spied the brace enclosing the leg where his bones were still trying to knit themselves together. Tentatively lifting Finn’s ragged vest, soiled by grime and the Irishman’s own blood, Colt inspected the bandage wrapped around Finn’s damaged ribs. The dirt had wormed its way under the tape holding it to his skin and now the wraps were slipping off. Colt gently pulled the bandage back and caught a quick glimpse of the large, jaggy stitches knotting together the horrendous gash he’d received courtesy of Seth Rollin’s hammer before swiftly placing it back down. He tried to coax the tape to stick to Finn’s abdomen once more in futility before pulling the younger man’s vest back down.

     Trying to catch Finn’s eye, he found his companion had succumbed to a deep sleep. That in itself was unsettling to the Chicago native. Finn slept like a wild animal, never straying too far from consciousness in case a threat presented itself and he needed to react. To see him completely under was unnatural. Colt felt something in him jolt, the prone figure sleeping before him reminding him of a time not so long ago where another friend of his was teetering close to death.

     But this was different. At that time, he was alone and desperate and there was nothing he could do. This time, he had options.

     It wasn’t fair to make him choose.

     But he already had.


	45. I'll Be Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Warning - distressing scenes ahead including an attempted sexual assault **

     Finn watched as Colt carefully counted out the tokens on the tabletop.

     ‘Thirteen. You sure you don’t want a water bottle for today?’ he asked for the umpteenth time. Finn smiled back with exasperation.

     ‘Like I told you, we need the tokens more,’ he reminded Colt. ‘Anyway, it won’t matter after tonight.’

     ‘Jesus, I hope this works,’ Colt heaved, running his hands nervously through his hair.

     ‘If it doesn’t, well, at least we’ll be reunited with Punk in solitary,’ Finn tried to joke but it only worked Colt up even more. The Irishman reached out and placed his hand steadily on Colt’s trembling fingers. ‘It will work. I know it will.’

     ‘I feel so shitty,’ Colt confessed. ‘I can’t believe I’m just turning my back on him.’

     ‘You’re not,’ Finn corrected him. ‘We have to face it – there’s nothing we can do to help him while we’re stuck in here. Once we’re free, we’ll find a way to get him out too.’

     Colt was struggling and he knew if he didn’t find a way to control himself he would have another panic attack. He decided to focus on the logistics. ‘So I’m gonna speak to Sami, you speak to Reigns,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay off a couple of guys with our tokens to create some kind of distraction during the evening meal then we all sneak out towards the maintenance room. You’ll have to be first away since you’re the only one who knows where it is. You can do that, right? Right?’

     Finn reached out and patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. ‘Yes, I can do that. We’ll be fine.’

     Colt couldn’t think of anything positive to say so he said nothing.

 

     For the first time since their arrival in Tampa, the sun disappeared. Smothered behind a thick blanket of dense grey cloud, the day turned cold and the rain battered down, striking everything in its wake like a hail of iron nails. Finn paused to wipe the deluge invading his eyes. As the rain hit him and slid its way down his forehead, it mingled with the dirt that Colt had not been able to clean off the night before and together they created a blinding paste. Once his vision was back to normal, he raised his pick and began to hammer at the large stone wall once more.

     Finn’s arms had gone numb hours ago and now his body was working like an automaton, mindlessly reenacting the same motion over and over again. His legs creaked and his hips groaned as he lifted the heavy pickaxe and brought it down onto the brick wall, breaking up the façade into chunks. At least his ribs had given up screaming and were now just constantly whimpering, every so often giving a howl of pain as he raised the axe above his head. His mind was checked out, only coming back every so often to will him on and remind him that, after tonight, he would be gone from this place and safely back at Knocks, with a comfy bed, fresh clothes and a full belly. He also had brief glances of Bayley’s reaction when he returned to her but those he tried to keep at bay. He couldn’t afford to get carried away. Their mission tonight was dangerous and unpredictable. A Scottish poet he’d been told about in school had once said ‘ _the best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men gang aft agley’_. Any number of tiny incidents could occur to hamper their escape.

     He raised his pick high to slice it down onto the brickwork when he became aware of a presence that made the hair on the back of his neck prick up. The tool in his hand froze, poised high as the all-too-familiar movement edged closer inch by inch. He’d only known two people who could move like that and he hoped with every fibre of his being that it was one and not the other. The pick slumped down to the ground with disappointment.

     ‘What do you want?’ he snapped, keeping his voice low so the nearby guards wouldn’t hear.

     ‘Aww Irish,’ the voice of Seth Rollins teased from behind the wall to his left. An empty window lay between them under which he had hid himself among the shadows. ‘Is that any way to greet an old friend?’

     ‘We’re not friends,’ Finn shot back. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready for tonight?’

     ‘That’s why I’m here,’ Seth went on the defensive. ‘I was checking in with Roman but thought I’d stop by and take this chance to see you scrabbling around in the dirt seeing as I won’t get this opportunity again.’

     ‘You’ve seen it, you can go now,’ Finn snarled, wiping the filthy paste from his eyes once more.

     ‘Relax, Irish,’ Seth cooed mockingly. ‘We have time, let me have my fun.’

     ‘I swear when I see you again I’m gonna wring that-‘ Finn was cut off by the shrill of a whistle from several feet behind him.

     ‘Alright you lot, time’s up,’ the shift leader bellowed. ‘I don’t want to see a single tool left behind. They’re worth more than you are.’

     ‘Well, I hate to cut our lovely chat short,’ Finn smirked towards Rollins, ‘but I have to be heading back. I’ll be seeing you soon though.’ He turned to leave when a sharp jab in the chest pushed him back. He looked up to see Ramirez, one of his personally appointed guards standing before him.

     ‘Not you, 66036,’ Ramirez uttered from a face so hard Finn could have chipped at it with his pick. ‘You haven’t reached target yet.’

     ‘I could work all night and not hit target,’ Finn argued, trying his best to keep his tone cool to hide his agitation. This night, of all nights, he had no time to spare. He needed to get back to the main building or else the entire plan was in jeopardy. He was so close to freedom he could almost smell it and nothing would take that chance away from him. ‘I’ll take the hit this time and try again tomorrow.’

     ‘Not a chance,’ Ramirez spoke with a voice devoid of emotion. ‘If you actually put some effort in instead of slacking off all the time, you wouldn’t be missing your targets by such laughable margins. The guards back at the Garden said you were lazy and now, I have to say I agree.’

     Finn clenched his jaw tightly. To argue back would be to add more hours to his overtime. If they wanted to, they could keep him here overnight.

     ‘We’re here to help you,’ Ramirez said, his tone as cold as mountain rock. ‘We’ll make a worker out of you yet. Now get back to that wall. I want to see that thing completely gone in the next half hour. I’ll be watching you.’

     Finn ground his teeth together but complied none-the-less. An extra half an hour wouldn’t affect their plan too much but that meant he had to really step on the gas to complete his task. As he began to hammer the stubborn structure, he heard a grating noise to his left. He hated Seth’s laugh the most.

     ‘Well, I hate to cut our lovely chat short,’ Rollins said, taunting Finn’s earlier statement ‘but I have to be heading back. I’ll see you soon though… hopefully.’ Finn sensed Rollins’ departure and felt a pang of relief that he could focus on his final task. At the back of his mind though was the vision of freedom, to finally be sprung from this cage and back by her side.

 

     Colt indulged himself by buying a meal with his day’s takings and sat staring down at whatever delicacy it was meant to be on his tray. He dipped a finger in, wincing on hearing an actual squelching noise emit from the gunk and licked the strangely coloured slime off of his digit. He nodded his head, eyebrows knitted and lips pursed. It wasn’t the worst he had tasted.

     ‘Oh my god, it’s happening,’ Sami could barely contain his excitement as he sat opposite Colt. The younger man was a ball of nervous energy these days and Colt couldn’t help but find it rather endearing. ‘Did you manage to pay somebody off?’

     ‘Yeah, about that,’ Colt picked up his plastic fork and stabbed the glob on his tray to check it was definitely not alive. ‘I’ve been thinking about it all day and I’ve made one of those decision, those, exetitive, exucative-‘

     ‘Executive?’ Sami corrected with a laugh. ‘Come on Colt, English isn’t even my first language and I knew that.’

     ‘Whatever,’ Colt shrugged. ‘I’ve decided _I’m_ gonna be the one to start the distraction.’

     He didn’t need to look up to see the shock on Sami’s face. ‘But how will you be able to join us if you’re doing the distraction.’

     ‘Easy answer is, I won’t,’ Colt shot back. ‘I’m staying here.’

     ‘You’re not serious,’ Sami stammered.

     ‘I am,’ Colt looked up. Seeing the stunned look on the redhead’s face, Colt lowered his fork. ‘I can’t leave him behind, Sami. I’ve tried to think about this whole thing from both sides and I know that we can probably do more to help him outside of this place but… I can’t do it. I left him behind before and from that day on, I made a promise that I’ll never abandon him again. Him or April. Punk and I have been in this thing from the start and that’s exactly how we’ll see it through… together!’ Sami lowered his head, nodding gloomily. ‘Just do me a favour, yeah?’

     ‘Anything,’ Sami replied instantly. ‘You name it.’

     ‘Make sure Finn gets safely back to Bayley,’ Colt smiled, sadly. ‘He doesn’t like breaking promises – he’s a man of his word.’

     The half hour was almost up and the wall was only half gone. The early flurry had rapidly drained Finn’s strength and now he was struggling to even lift his pick up. Finn felt his inner entity wriggling around his stomach, nipping impatiently at his innards as he felt the minutes tick by.

     Finn wasn’t the only one getting edgy; the guards at his back were started to wonder how much longer they would be out in the deluge for and were keen to get under shelter. Finn knew the pair well. They were the men who had chained him and escorted him to and from this place for the past two days. Every so often they came and went but one would always remain to keep a close eye on their captive. Ramirez was tall and had the build of a cage fighter, wiry but muscular. The other, simply known as Bob, whistled every time he exhaled and walked with a slight limp from an old injury set wrong. Finn knew if they ever tried anything with him, he could easily take down Bob. Ramirez on the other hand was lined with lean muscle and looked quick. In his prime, Finn would have been more confident in tackling the bald headed guarded but right now he was dehydrated, starved and worked to the brink of exhaustion. His odds were lower than when he had faced Rollins.

     ‘Come on 66036,’ Bob called out from behind Finn. ‘Time to head in.’

     Finn wasn’t going to argue at the pleasant surprise. Instantly he shouldered his pick, feeling the blood rush into his worn out arms as he allowed one to rest by his side. With head bowed he shuffled towards his guards, stepping over the rubble he had so far dislodged from the building’s wall. His heart fell when he heard that old familiar clinking noise.

     ‘Not this time,’ he pleaded, his voice low and calm. ‘They’re heavy.’

     ‘You know, you’re doing a lot of talking back tonight,’ Ramirez noted, a threat permeating through his voice. Finn took the hint and shut his mouth, silently placed his hands behind his head in surrender. Bob seeing the cue and went in to apply the restrains to their captive. Threading the large leather belt through the loops on his jumpsuit, it was tightly secured at the back. Finn lowered his arms and offered his wrists, the guard wheezing heavily as he clasped the metal cuffs tightly around them. As Bob knelt down to apply the manacles to his ankles, Finn stared down at his bound hands, instinctively testing the strength of the short chain that pinned them to the belt around his waist.

     ‘Trying to figure out if you can break them?’ Ramirez said to Finn, reading the Irishman’s thoughts exactly. ‘Don’t be an idiot. Those chains have kept far bigger and more dangerous men than you in check.’

     Bob stood back up and Ramirez gave the order to return back to base. Finn, with his ankles now wrapped in chains, felt the full weight of the bonds on his weakened frame. They wore him down incredibly and while he had struggled enough yesterday morning when he had first been taking to hard labour, now after two days of constant strenuous work, it took every ounce of strength to lift one leg in front of the other.

     ‘Come on, get moving,’ Ramirez ordered the Irishman and Finn tried to quicken his pace. The rain beat down on the three men as they trudged through the squelching mud until the towering shadow of Eden rose before them. Finn had grown to hate the prison building like a bitter enemy but could only seethe silently as he obedient walked through its gates, wide and open like a giant mouth laughing hysterically.

 

     Time was ticking on and Colt was getting nervous. He kept rapping his knuckles against the wooden tabletop, looking up every time a door opened hoping to see Finn arrive at last.

     ‘He’ll be here soon,’ Sami tried to calm the Chicago native down.

     ‘Where is he?’ Colt hissed, looking around them for the umpteenth time that minute.

     ‘Probably just held up,’ Sami assured him. ‘We just need to wait a little longer.’

     Colt nodded but his leg was jumping wildly underneath the table. He looked around the room once again. Reigns was not far away, shooting enquiring looks. Colt had nothing to offer him. He would have to start some kind of distraction soon but he couldn’t begin until Finn showed up. He was the only one who knew the way to the maintenance room.

     ‘They probably have him working overtime,’ Sami noted, unhelpfully.

     ‘Ok, so we wait,’ Colt concluded. ‘He won’t be much longer.’

 

     Finn kept his head down as he was marched through the winding corridors of the prison’s ground floor. The air was hot and choking, mingled with the darkness it gave out a claustrophobic sensation. As much as he could barely see a foot in front of him, Finn knew the way back to Wing A as well as the guards so when they took an unsuspected turn, it caught his attention. He never let the surprise show in his expression or his body language though, never giving an indication to his capturers that he had cottoned on to their scheme. Wherever they were leading him, it wasn’t going to be good and he needed that element of surprise.

     He kept a wary eye on his surroundings, dark as they were, as he was lead down a novel series of corridors. A sign next to a filthy window dimly read ‘Wing B’ and Finn fought hard to hide his peaking interest. His heart was starting to thump in his chest, banging against his protesting rib cage and churning the blood around his body. His mind was worn out and failing to keep his animal instincts under control.

     They finally halted, Bob keeping an authoritative grasp of Finn’s shoulder as he maneuvered him to face a metal door. Ramirez rapped his knuckles against the door, signaling their arrival before walking to Finn’s free side and taking a firm hold of his arm. A guard on either side of him, Finn waited in silence, only the clinking of his chains breaking the stillness of the night.

     The door was opened. Ramirez and Bob escorted their prisoner into the small, dimly lit room. At first, Finn walked in obediently, intrigued by what was waiting on the other side. The room was tiny, an old cell the size of Cena’s gym room back at Knocks. An oil lamp burnt in the corner on a solid oak table casting long, warped shadows across the walls. Finn, however, was more interested in the room’s occupants, finding three men waiting for them inside. The one who had opened the door was an average sized man with a forgettable face that he was certain he had not met before. The fourth had laughed when Finn had been sucker-punched the other day in the mess hall. The other was at the far end of the room and had his back to him but Finn didn’t need to see his face to recognise him instantly.

     A surge of panic swept him up and Finn struggled against his capturers, trying desperately to yank himself free and bolt for the door. Bob lost his grip on Finn’s shoulder but just like the former Bullet Club leader had feared, Ramirez was made of stronger stuff. The guard held firm, wrestling with the Irishman and finally kicking his captive in the back of the leg to force him to one knee. Finn was shocked by his own helplessness. His body was spent, every muscle weak and exhausted, his limbs were weighed down with heavy shackles and he was hopelessly outnumbered. The blood was screaming in his ears as he felt Bob and other guards grab onto him, pinning him steadfastly in place.

     ‘Show me his face,’ that sickly familiar voice demanded above him. Ramirez grabbed a fistful of Finn’s dark brown hair and forced his head back. His gaze found the man who instilled such potent emotions in him, crouched down before him, their faces mere inches away. Carter wore that arrogant, smug grin that Finn wanted to smash into oblivion. The Irishman tried to make a move to attack the tall blonde, but his chains let out a mocking clank as they held taut.

     ‘There they are,’ Carter smirked, ‘those pretty blues.’ He reached out his mammoth hand towards Finn’s face. Unable to go on the offense, Finn tried defense and retreated from Carter’s touch but Ramirez had a firm hold of his hair and thrust the Irishman towards Carter’s digits. A nauseating feeling retched inside the pit of Finn’s stomach as Carter stroked his cheek with the back of his fingers, the gesture delicate but loaded with intention. _I am in control_ ,’ it said, _and there’s nothing you can do about it._

The softness of Carter’s touch turned in an instant as he slapped the Irishman hard across the face. Finn’s head snapped to the side as a burning sensation engulfed his cheek. The fingers clasped in his hair pulled his head back like a puppet on a string to face his attacker again. Carter lashed out with a second slap to his other cheek. The laughter rang out in the small enclosure as the group of stray cats toyed with their helpless prey.

     ‘Do it again,’ he cronies encouraged. ‘One more time.’

     Carter obliged his violence-thirsty audience and slapped Finn a third time across the face. The Irishman clenched his teeth together. _Fight back_ ,’ something inside of him urged but Finn shook the thought from his skull. He had made a promise to both Punk and Bayley and he refused to go back on it. He could endure a little humiliation. He just had to stay calm.

     ‘I could do this all day,’ Carter forced out between snide chuckles. ‘Unfortunately that’s not why I brought you here.’ He paused as if waiting for a response but none were forthcoming. ‘Let’s you and I have a little chat, huh? We’ve spent a lot of time together these past few days but I feel like we don’t know anything about each other. I’m intrigued to find out about you – who you are. Where you came from.’

     Finn stared back, his jaw clenched shut and his expression venomous yet calm. It only irked his captor, who lashed out with yet another harsh slap to the face.

     ‘Well, come on then?’ Carter spat, grabbing hold of Finn’s chin and pulling it towards him. ‘Let’s hear it.’ He growled as Finn kept his mouth shut. ‘This isn’t like you,’ he hissed. ‘You’ve always got some kind of snarky comeback or insult for me? What’s with the silent treatment all of a sudden?’ Still nothing emerged from Finn’s lips. ‘You want me to guess? Fine! Because I’ve been thinking a lot about you recently; about who you really are, and I think I’ve got a good idea.’

     Carter kept his vice-like grip on Finn’s chin as he reached into his pocket with his free hand. ‘Look-see what I got here.’ He held something between his thumb and forefinger for his prisoner to see. Finn felt the blood drain from his face as he spied the item but he kept his expression stoic, desperate not to give anything away.

     ‘That’s you, isn’t it?’ Carter asked with a grin on his wormy lips as he held the tiny figure Bayley had made and glanced between it and Finn. ‘The same blue eyes, that ‘cool-dude’ leather jacket you had on when we took you in. You made a cute little doll of yourself.’ Carter’s voice lowered a register, making it rumble the very bones of Finn’s body. ‘Or did someone else make it?’ There was a change in his tone and it froze Finn’s blood. ‘You know, these remind me of someone. Someone who used to make similar little models right here in Eden.’ He smiled maliciously at Finn who stared daggers back at him. ‘So when I saw this cute little mini-you, I had to ask myself…’ he brought Finn’s face in closer. The former Bullet Club leader stared into Carter’s grey eyes as they appeared to turn black, the rest of his expression clouding over, ‘…how in the hell do you know Bayley?’

     Finn had gone noticeably paler but his face was steady and he refused to answer. The grip on his chin tightened as Carter dug his fingernails into Finn’s jawline.

     ‘You know what I think?’ Carter went on and it was clear that he was growing more agitated by the second. ‘I think you and her are an item.’ He maneuvered Finn’s head to try and gauge his expression but Finn gave nothing away. ‘I think she came to you and gave you her sad, little sob story and you fell for it hook, line and sinker. She gave you what she NEVER gave me. She opened up her scrawny little thighs and let you slide into her wet, waiting hole didn’t she?’ Hearing Carter speak about Bayley this way was riling Finn up something fierce but he had to remain calm. If he reacted, it gave away that he knew Bayley and put her in danger. He had to resist the urge to spit right in the man’s face.

     ‘Poor you,’ Carter said with mock pity. ‘She was a frigid little bitch anyway. Probably nothing up her cunt but sand. I only wanted to help her, you know. Loosen her up a bit, let her have a little fun for once. Ungrateful slut.’ He shook his head as he returned to the matter at hand. ‘So you and Bayley are fucking each other’s brains out. She opens up to you, tells you all about me. She twists the truth, tells you these horrible lies that make her out to be so hard-done-by and I’m the bad guy here. I don’t blame you for believing her. I would have if she was keeping my dick wet too. She gives you those doe-eyes and asks you to avenge her and like the sad little sap that you are, you do as you’re asked, right? You come here with your brainless, little friends to track me down and take me out. Am I right?’

     Finn narrowed his eyes.

     ‘You listening to me?’ Carter slapped Finn again, flaring up a welt on the Irishman’s cheekbone. ‘Answer me. Am I right?’

     Finn was struggling to keep his senses in check. Inside, it felt as if someone was dousing his innards with gasoline before shoving the matches into his hand, daring him to light it up. _Do it_ , that otherworldly voice inside him pushed. _Do it! DO IT!_

     ‘No,’ he coughed out. Carter picked up the sound of Finn’s voice and moved in closer.

     ‘What was that?’ he asked the Irishman. ‘What did you say?’ He slapped Finn harder than ever. ‘ANSWER ME YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF TRASH! DID BAYLEY SEND YOU HERE? ARE YOU HERE TO KILL ME?’

     This time, it was Carter’s fist that collided with Finn’s cheek. The blow was brutal and Finn went sprawling across the floor. Above him, Carter was like a man possessed. A gruesome combination of fear and anger was brewing inside the man and, much like when you mix sulpher with potassium nitrate, the end result was explosive.

     He was on Finn like a shark smelling blood, straddling his defenceless body and mercilessly grabbing the Irishman’s ears to pull his head up again. ‘You WILL tell me,’ Carter snarled right in Finn’s face, his spittle raining down on the vulnerable Irishman. ‘You act the tough guy now but I will make you talk.’ Carter’s fist smashed into Finn’s broken ribs, causing the Irishman to groan out through his teeth. ‘You thought you would get the better of me, huh? Looks like the tables have turned. You claim to be so strong and smart and fast but look at you now. Here, at my mercy. I can do whatever the fuck I want to you.’ He leant right in. Finn felt his hot breath at his ear. ‘Whatever. The fuck. I want.’

     A backhander punctuated Carter’s final statement and Finn fell onto his front, his hands pinned underneath him by the chains. The last blow had landed hard and he felt the warm sensation of blood dripping down his cheek.

     _What are you doing? Why are you being so weak?_

‘Let me handle this,’ he growled to himself.

     ‘Pick him up,’ Finn heard Carter order his cronies above him. Soon, hands were grasping him once more, each taking a firm hold and pulling him to his feet. His legs were like jelly and flopped beneath him but his captors kept him at a vertical base. ‘On the table,’ Carter’s voice reached Finn’s ear along with another sound, something like clinking. It must have been the chains but it sounded further away. It didn’t take him long to figure out the puzzle as Carter’s men jerked the Irishman over to the table at the side of the room and bent him over it, shoving his face flush against the unyielding timber.

     _For Christ’s sake, DO SOMETHING!_

Everything was spinning uncontrollably. Voices around him and within him were mixing into one. He couldn’t fathom what was real and what wasn’t anymore. He could only pick out certain sensations; the ice coldness of the tabletop at his cheek, the pain of his own body crushing his hands trapped beneath him, fingers tugging at the jumpsuit knotted around his waist.

     ‘What the fuck’s taking so long?’ Carter’s voice.

     ‘I’m sorry, I put the belt through the loops. It won’t budge.’

     ‘Move. I’ll fix this.’ Ramirez this time.

     ‘Put your knife away! You know we can’t damage the uniforms. Batista will kill us.’

     _Do you know what they’re about to do to you?_

Wait…

     ‘Fine then unbuckle it just fucking do it quick.’

     _Promises be damned! You can’t just lie there and-_

Wait…

     ‘Come on! Come on!’

     ‘I’m going as fast as I can!’

     _If you don’t do something then I will!_

Just one more second…

     The tell-tale clink of a restraint belt being unfastened.

     NOW!

     Finn lit every match he could find and threw them onto the fuel. The fire engulfed him completely.

     He lashed out, kicking Bob standing behind him in his bad leg just like he had played out in his head over and over again. He had no time to enjoy the result though as he knew Ramirez was to his right, brandishing a knife. Finn had no weapons, his arms and legs were still shackled (though no longer pinned to his waist) and even if they were free, they were too exhausted to fight against someone as quick as Ramirez. He did have one trick in his arsenal however, something he had never used before, never needed to. Something that one man taught him a long time ago and had left his very mark upon his skin.

     Finn sprung onto Ramirez, teeth bared and hissing like a snake. He found his target and buried his sharp canines into the guard’s neck, biting down viciously. Ramirez cried out like a terrified child, completely horrified by the attack. Finn could feel his startled sobs through the vibrations on his lips but he showed no remorse. He ripped his head back, shredding flesh from flesh and leaving Ramirez with a bloody hole in his neck, spewing blood and strings of muscle from the gaping wound. Ramirez fell, gasping out hollow sounds from the new orifice.

     The horror struck the room and Finn turned to face the remaining guards, blood oozing from his mouth, dripping down onto the old stains on his vest, covering almost every inch of him crimson while his eyes burned with the vibrant blue of an intense flame. He looked like something from a nightmare and it struck fear into the hearts of his jailors.

     With one motion, Finn pulled the belt free from the loops of his jumpsuit. His wrists were still cuffed and wouldn’t be much use in a fight, but without the belt pinning them to his waist, his legs now had more freedom to move. That was all he needed. The exhaustion was gone, the pain was gone, there was nothing left but the fire and it was erupting inside him like a volcano.

     ‘I told you to make it count,’ the man who once been Finn rumbled to Carter.

     ‘Trying to scare me?’ Carter yelled from across the room. ‘You don’t fucking scare me.’ He eyed his two companions who were standing stock still on either side of him. ‘Come on you cowards! He’s just one scrawny little shrimp! And he’s still chained up! Go get him!’

   Carter shoved them both in the back and they switched onto autopilot, hurtling themselves towards the demon like lambs to the slaughter. The table was behind Bálor and with one swift jump, he was crouched on top of it, winding his body like a coil. His blue eyes locked onto the wide, panicked eyes of his assailants, deciding in that split second who his next victim would be. He chose the larger of the two.

     He pounced, his strong legs spring-boarding him from the table and so high up into the air that the top of his head skimmed the ceiling of the cell. The guard stopped mid-step and watched in horror as the man possessed hurtled down towards him, his feet aiming squarely at their target.

     Bálor found his mark and smashed right into the guard’s chest, feeling bones snap satisfyingly beneath his soles. A howl rose up from his victim that echoed around them. No time to pause. Carter had his baton in hand and took a swipe at Bálor’s head. The demon dodged effortlessly, ducking low and lashed out with his leg, sweeping Carter’s feet out from under him, dropping the man as his companion rushed over with Ramirez’ discarded knife. The man slashed furiously towards Bálor who weaved left and right to avoid the attacks. The stabbing was frantic, the guard clearly panic-stricken and desperate to exercise the ungodly abomination before him and Bálor could not find a space to counter-attack. The Irishman was forced back to the opposite side of the room, nearly tripping over the writhing form of Ramirez on the ground. His lower back hit the wooden table and the guard smirked, thinking he had trapped his opponent.

     He wasn’t smart enough to realise he was the one caught in the spider’s web.

     Bálor went low, entangling his foe’s legs with his own. Twisting his hips, the demon succeeded in tripping the guard who fell forward with great velocity and landed face first with a ringing clatter onto the rock-hard table. He was knocked out instantly.

     Bálor only rolled to the side a fraction before Carter’s baton struck, the weapon smashing a stone tile in the very spot the Irishman had been a mere second ago.

     ‘COWARD! FACE ME LIKE A MAN!’ Carter roared as he aimed a wild hit that missed Bálor but actually struck one of his fallen companions in the leg. He ignored his comrade’s wails of pain as he advanced on Bálor once more. The Irish native found himself backed into the corner of the room, wedged between the table and the wall. His chest was heaving, sweat lining his brow as his energy came drawing to a close. The fire had raged more furiously than ever within him, giving him unparalleled strength to escape his predicament, but as with any blaze, the more intense the flame, the quicker the fuel burns up. He knew he had to be fast and take out his opponents quickly and he had succeeded for the most part. There was still an ember inside him, one final push and he’d saved it for the man who deserved it most.

Carter stood tall over his captive, the grin growing on his lips. ‘Nowhere else to go, pretty boy,’ he gurgled between maniacal chuckles. ‘You’re mine.’

     He went in for the killer blow.

     So did Bálor.

     Springing to his feet, he grabbed the oil lamp from the table beside him and threw it straight at Carter. With his hands still chained to his feet, he could only throw the lamp at waist level and it spewed its red-hot contents all down the tall, blonde’s crotch. The guard shrieked out like a banshee as searing liquid latched onto his clothes, eating through to the sensitive skin below.

     To Bálor‘s amazement, the stunt only halted Carter for a second but it succeeded in pushing the guard’s wrath to boiling point. Carter let out a throat-tearing roar and charged for Bálor, baton high with deadly intent. The Irishman dodged and the blow harmlessly struck the table instead. Before Carter could raise the baton up again, Bálor latched onto the guard’s wrist, grasping it firmly with both of his cuffed hands. Carter struggled furiously and Bálor felt his grip start to slacken. In a last gasp effort, Bálor banged Carter’s arm hard against the wooden table. It took several blows before Carter’s fingers finally loosened around the baton and it fell to the floor with a clatter. Carter’s free hand found Bálor’s face, his ragged fingernails trying to bury themselves in the Irishman’s eyes.

     Bálor kicked out and hit his mark perfectly, striking Carter directly into his armpit. The wet pop that followed told them both that the socket had dislocated itself and Bálor felt the hand at his face go limp. Carter froze, stunned by the numbness in his arm as he stared bewildered at the fallen limb. Bálor did not waste his chance and in one fluid movement, swooped down to pick up the abandoned knife before leaping high to allow his cuffed hands the freedom to plant the weapon square in the centre of Carter’s working palm, impaling it to the table.

     Finn fell to the floor in a heap as Carter’s screams rung through his head. The large man was falling towards him and Finn quickly rolled under the table to prevent himself from being crushed. Once safe, he closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath, his body feeling the incredible strain of utter exhaustion. The light had gone out inside him and left an empty, hollow husk.

     The room went still at last. Finn and Carter’s heavy breathing were the dominant sounds over the whimpering of the latter’s fallen comrades. The air was heavy with the smell of blood and the moisture of sweat hung like a fog around the tiny cell.

     ‘How…?’ a hoarse voice whispered, right in front of Finn. The Irishman opened two heavy eyelids and his icy gaze found the speaker in front of him. Carter looked a sorry sight, one arm pinned above him, the other sprawled uselessly across the floor. ‘How did you beat me?’

     ‘You’re slow,’ Finn gasped out between pants, raising both cuffed hands to wipe the sweat from his eyes. ‘You’ve always been slow.’

     ‘Bullshit,’ Carter spat. ‘Was I slow the other night when I punched you right in your fucking face.’

     Finn’s body shook as a small, wry laugh escaped him.

     ‘What?’ Carter hissed. ‘What’s so funny?’

     Finn shook his head as another small laugh rattled through him. ‘The only reason you ever managed to put your hands on me was because I allowed it,’ he said, as he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He couldn’t see Carter’s reaction but he could feel his anger growing.

     ‘Bullshit!’ Carter spat again. ‘Fucking bullshit.’

     ‘You more than anyone else know it’s true,’ Finn replied, his voice as steady as a calm ocean wave lapping the shore. ‘It’s why you’ve been starving me and wearing me down in hard labour.’ Carter refused to comment but Finn didn’t need his verification; he knew the reasoning behind his captor’s constant torment. ‘You regret the moment you blasted me with that hose, don’t you?’

     ‘Shut up!’ Carter growled but Finn paid no heed.

     ‘You saw me that first day with the taped up ribs, the brace on my leg and the bruises on my face and you thought you’d found yourself a nice, easy target, didn’t you?’ A sliver of a smile glinted on Finn’s face. ‘You had no idea you’d just made the dumbest mistake of your life.’ Finn chuckled, the sound barely audible through his chest.

     ‘You little piece of-,’ Carter made a move towards the Irishman but as he maneuvered his legs, a burst of gut-wrenching pain overtook his groin area. He let out a wail as the agony of the burns finally hit him. He tried to grab at his injury to soothe the searing sensation but both of his arms were locked into place. Finn looked on, feeling no remorse for his victim.

     ‘You asked me if I came here to kill you,’ Finn said, locking his eyes on Carter as he watched the guard squirm feebly. ‘The answer is and always was… no. Despite what you think, I came here for my friends, my brothers, the two men who have saved my life time and time again without expecting anything in return. I came here to keep them safe and that was all.’

     Carter let out another cry but Finn carried on, his face as hard as stone. ‘ _You_ were the one who forced my hand, by coming into my cell and threatening me. Yes, I’d seen you at your twisted work that day with Josie, but she made it very clear she didn’t want my help. It wasn’t until you turned your attention onto me that I turned mine onto you. You have only yourself to blame for this.

     ‘You’re a rapist,’ Finn spat at the guard. He noted the look in the tall blonde’s face. ‘Oh I know you don’t think you are because all the women you’ve slept with gave their consent, but consent given under coercion, threat and abuse is still fucking rape.’ Finn had to stop in order to calm himself before continuing. ‘Let me guess; I’m not the only man you’ve targeted, am I?’

     Carter bared his teeth at Finn, spittle flying as he snarled through his teeth.

     ‘Didn’t think so,’ Finn shot back. ‘But you’re not gay, you’re not even bi. You can call me pretty all you like but there’s no sexual attraction there at all. You just enjoy the dominance, the power, the control over another human being. You fancy yourself some kind of alpha male. Must be very alpha having another guy on his knees sucking you off, at least in your twisted mind. Even more alpha to have a man you know is superior to you in every way bent over a table and held down by your friends while you-’ Finn had to stop again. The horror he had felt in that moment was still far too fresh. Carter picked up on the moment of weakness and attacked.

     ‘Third time lucky,’ he sneered at the Irishman.

     Finn took a deep breath and managed to calm himself, a small smirk rising on his lips. ‘Luck is for losers,’ Finn grinned at him, motioning with his head towards the patches of oil on Carter’s trousers. ‘You’ll never hurt anyone, ever again. I’ve seen to that.’ He looked up and locked blue eyes with grey. ‘Justice has been done.’

     A sound of thunder rattled around them. Finn’s eyes widened as he heard the stampede coming closer by the second.

     ‘What is-? he turned to Carter, who smiled back wickedly.

     ‘You were too busy lecturing me to notice,’ Carter mocked.

     ‘Notice what?’ Finn demanded. Carter only gurgled a laugh in reply. Finn looked wildly around the room, trying to fathom what he had missed. It was staring him straight in the face and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it sooner.          

     There were only four bodies in the room.

     Bob was missing!

     A second later, the door crashed open and a dozen heavy black boots careened into the cell. Finn, too shocked, and far too exhausted to move, was yanked out from his hiding place to the middle of the room where the uniformed men surrounded him on all sides. The blows came raining down, batons and boots stomping relentlessly onto their prone victim. Finn could only curl his body up, his cuffed hands barely able to cover his vulnerable head as it was pummeled without remorse.

     ‘Ok, that’s enough, he’s down,’ a booming voice sounded out and the beating halted. Finn barely had time to gather his senses before he was pulled out of the fetal position and pinned face down against the floor by the army of riot gear clad guards. Above him, Batista surveyed the damage while Bob scurried over to help free Carter’s hand from the knife.

     ‘What happened in here?’ Batista commanded Carter.

     ‘It was him,’ Carter would have pointed to Finn but Bob was still trying to yank the knife free. ‘He attacked us. The guy’s a psychopath – look what he fucking did to Ramirez.’ Batista glanced down at Ramirez’ trembling body, spying the blood pooled around his neck.

     ‘Go check on him,’ Batista ordered a guard who did as he was bid and crouched down beside Ramirez to examine the damage, letting out a curse through his teeth as he surveyed the wound on his neck. ‘Well?’

     ‘He’ll live,’ the guard replied. ‘His windpipe is still intact and so are his major arteries. I just need something to staunch the bleeding.’

     Finn felt heavy footsteps walk right up alongside him. Strong fingers wrapped themselves around his bandana and tore it away from his neck. Finn shivered as the icy air of the cell hit his exposed skin.

     ‘Use this,’ Batista said, flinging the fabric at the guard and Finn watched on helplessly as his beloved bandana was applied to the man who had pulled a knife on him, who had held him down and kicked his legs as far apart as the chain would allow. It made him feel sick.

     Batista in the meantime turned his attention back to Carter. Seeing Bob was still struggling with the knife, the head guard marched over, firmly moved the wheezing guard aside and with one seamless attempt, wrenched the blade free from the table like Arthur removing Excalibur from the stone. Carter’s body fell and Bob went to his aid. ‘So tell me exactly what happened.’

     ‘The prisoner is holding back important information,’ Carter gasped out as Bob placed the tall blonde’s good arm around his shoulder. ‘He’s an assassin, sent here to take us out.’

     ‘An assassin, huh?’ the skepticism was evident in Batista’s tone, but looking around the room, he had to admit, there might have been some truth to his statement. ‘And just who is- JESUS CHRIST, CARTER!’ Now that the blonde guard was on his feet, Batista could clearly see the unbuckled belt dangling from his loops on his trousers, his zip flying low. ‘This again? How many times have we warned you about your conduct?’

     ‘I swear, we were only interrogating the suspect-‘ Carter stammered.

     ‘So this is how you ‘interrogate’, is it?’ Batista shot back. ‘You three; get off the prisoner, let him sit up.’ Finn inhaled deeply as the heavy weight lifted from his back and he was pulled up to his knees. Strong hands kept a wary grasp of his upper arms.

     ‘I’m sorry for the treatment these men gave you tonight’ Batista said to Finn, ‘tell me everything and I will make sure those responsible are punished.’ However before he could get a word out, Carter had rushed up to the head guard.

     ‘Don’t listen to him! He’s a fucking liar and a murderer. He tried to kill Ramirez!’

     ‘And did a piss poor job of it,’ Batista pointed out. ‘If he’s an assassin as you claim then surely Ramirez would be a corpse right now.’

     ‘Look at me!’ Carter screeched. ‘Look at what he did to me!’

     ‘What I see is self-defense,’ Batista squared up to the frantic blonde guard. ‘Look, I thought Michaels told you what would happen if-‘

     ‘Michaels told him what?’ All eyes turned as the man himself walked into the room. Shortly after entering, another man walked in behind Michaels, sporting a shaved head and a stern look upon his face. By his side, his hand nonchalantly gripped the business end of a sledgehammer. Finn noted the immediate change in the atmosphere at the appearance of the heavily built man, how every guard stood up straight, how Bob’s forehead began to bead with sweat, how Carter’s face went deathly pale and even the normally stoic Batista appeared somewhat flustered. Finn couldn’t blame them, even he felt a change within himself at the sight of the man - something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He recognised another strong alpha male in the room and felt a mixture of admiration and fear for the stranger.

     ‘Sir,’ Batista nodded towards both men respectively. ‘I’ve just apprehended Carter trying to assault another worker.’ Michael’s rubbed his hand over his face with a heavy sigh as Batista went on, reporting the tall blonde’s crimes to the haggard overseer of the prison. Soon Michael’s was lecturing the younger man about the consequences while Carter bowed his head, wearing the expression of sheer defeat.

     Finn was completely unaware of what should have been a sweet moment for him however, as his ice blue eyes followed the actions of the man with the sledgehammer. They shadowed the man as he crouched down beside the medic attending to Ramirez, silently gauging the injury caused by Finn’s teeth. He then stood up and walked calmly around the room, pausing at Finn’s other two victims, checking the pulse of the one he had knocked unconscious and uttering some words of comfort to the one whose ribcage Finn’s feet had shattered. Finn’s heart was pounding in his chest. There was something dangerous about this man and it unnerved him. If Finn fancied himself a wolf, this man was a lion. The Irishman never took his eyes off of him as he walked to the centre of the room, the walls around them echoing as the lecture of Carter grew louder.

     ‘You did this?’ the man with the sledgehammer asked aloud, surveying the room around him. Everyone in that tiny space went silent as all eyes fixed onto the large man. It was only once he’d turned and locked his gaze on the Irishman that Finn realised he was addressing him. Finn’s throat went dry all of a sudden and he could only answer with a nod. The side of the man’s mouth hiked up in a grin. Finn had seen the same expression on Punk’s face before but couldn’t tell whether it was genuine gesture or a mocking one. ‘All five men?’ he asked the Irishman. ‘While wearing restraints?’

     His voice found him. ‘Yes,’ Finn replied, his gaze never wavering from the man above him.

     The man looked around him again. Finn could see a glint in his eyes telling him that there was a sharp mind at work behind those hazel orbs.

     ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

     Finn could sense the danger. His body was spent and the net was closing in around him. If his time had come, he was going out on his own terms and that meant no longer hiding behind false identities and pseudonyms.

     ‘Fergal Devitt,’ he said. His true name ran off his tongue like butter and filled him with a warmth he hadn’t felt for a long, long time.

     The crooked smile returned to Hunter’s face, crinkling one sharp eye. ‘Well done, Carter,’ he said.

     The tall, blonde’s head perked up. ‘Sir?’ he asked, warily.

     Triple let out a chuckle as he turned towards his followers, each staring expectantly at him to explain the strange situation. ‘Gentlemen,’ Hunter said to them, ‘show some respect. We have royalty among us.’ His statement sounded like a taunt but his tone was genuine and Finn could sense the admiration in every word. ‘A prince to be precise.’ Triple H’s voice dropped to highlight the somberness of his next few words. ‘Prince Devitt, the founding member and former leader of the Bullet Club.’

     Every face turned to stare at Finn with fascination, none more so than Carter who looked at the Irishman with his jaw dropped in bewilderment. The game was now well and truly up. No need to play it safe any longer.

     ‘You’ve heard of me?’ Finn asked the well-built man standing tall above him.

     ‘Your reputation is well known, even in these parts,’ Hunter told him. ‘Although, my interest in your legacy is more… personal. You and your gang of thugs have prevented me from taking my business ventures further north.’

     ‘And what business venture is that?’ Finn asked, intrigued. Hunter smiled.

     ‘Your Club has been a thorn in my side for a very long time,’ Hunter went on. ‘Now I have the pleasure of meeting you face-to-face, a guest in my own house.’

     ‘A prisoner, you mean,’ Finn shot back. He lifted his hands as far as they would go, highlighting the metal chains holding them. ‘Any chance you could take these off?’ he asked, motioning with his head towards the cuffs.

     ‘I don’t think so,’ Triple H smiled, not unpleasantly. ‘Having seen what damage you can inflict with those restraints on, I’d hate to think what you could do with them removed.’

     Finn returned his own smile to Eden’s leader. ‘Then at least have the courtesy to tell me what you plan to do with me.’

     Triple H placed his sledgehammer against the ground. Crossing his wrists over one another, he leant upon the heavy weapon, his eyes narrowed as he pondered how best to proceed.

     ‘Shawn,’ he called over his friend who came to stand by his side. ‘Do you think our guest here will make a nice gift for the boss?’

     Michaels looked at his leader as if he had just lost his mind. ‘What, him?’ he asked, pointing a thumb at Finn.

     ‘The former leader of the Bullet Club, Prince Devitt himself,’ Hunter went on. ‘A handsome prize don’t you think?’

     ‘No I don’t and neither will Vince,’ Michaels retorted.

     ‘Because he’s small?’ Hunter queried. ‘He liked you.’

     ‘Only because he had no other choice,’ Michaels snorted, ‘after that whole mess with Hogan… Anyway, that doesn’t matter. The kid’s far too dangerous. Hunter, you saw what he did to our men. There’s only one sane thing to do here and that’s… dispose of him.’

   Hunter narrowed his eyes once more at the Irishman, his mind racing through every possible outcome. With a heavy sigh, he returned to his feet and lifted the sledgehammer to rest upon his shoulder.

     ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right,’ he caved in reluctantly. ‘Davis, Sharpe, you know what to do…’

     Finn could feel the game about to end. He lowered his head until his chin was resting against his collarbone.

     ‘You want to go one more round?’ he whispered softly to himself. Nothing but silence answered him. ‘Yeah, didn’t think so,’ he muttered with a wry smile. ‘We had a good run though. Never thought we would have lasted this long.’

     Hunter turned to leave the cell when Carter scurried up to him. ‘Sir, can I have a word?’ he asked.

     ‘Not now, Carter, for Christ’s sake,’ Batista pushed the younger man back but Hunter put out a hand to halt the head guard.

     ‘Is that any way to treat the man who single-handedly captured the leader of the Bullet Club?’ Hunter said to Batista before turning to the tall blonde. ‘Speak.’

     ‘Sir, the prisoner smuggled this into Eden. I found it on him.’ Carter handed the tiny wooden figure over to Triple H who studied it suspiciously. ‘It was made by a former citizen of Eden who went AWOL along with another citizen and John Cena several months ago.’ The name Cena brought an instant reaction to Hunter as his expression turned sour.

     ‘I only wish I could have seen Mum and Dad one last time,’ Finn continued his hushed monologue to himself. ‘My brothers and sister. The kids too, I never even got to meet my littlest nephew… can’t even remember his name. Guess he’ll be almost two by now…’

     ‘What does this mean?’ Hunter demanded of Carter, wrapping the wooden doll in his fist.

     ‘Punk and Colt, I failed you,’ Finn sighed to himself. ‘You’ll have to do the rest of the mission on your own. And Bayley…’

     ‘…Bayley might have been the one who sent him here..’

     On hearing his friend’s name spoken out loud, Finn ears pricked back to the conversation between Hunter, Michaels and Carter. His eyes widened as he spied Hunter turning the tiny doll that Bayley had given him between his fingers, eyeing up the trinket thoughtfully.

     ‘Shawn, did Jesse say exactly where they found our guest when they brought him in?’

     ‘The North-West quadrant,’ Michaels informed him without hesitation.

     ‘That’s a strange route to enter the city,’ Hunter murmured, ‘especially considering he had just escaped the Wyatt compound which is located east of Tampa…’

     The colour drained from Finn’s face. He had successfully managed until now without uttering a single word about Knox and yet the secret was unraveling before his very eyes. He had to do something. He had to stop this and protect those who had shown him nothing but kindness. He struggled against the hands that held him tight but their grips never faltered.

     ‘Wake up!’ he ordered the being inside of him. ‘Wake up! I need you!’

     ‘Gather up our best parties and have them search the east side of the city,’ Hunter ordered Batista. ‘Check every street, scour every building, leave no stone unturned and report back to me.’

     ‘Yes, sir,’ Batista made to leave when a voice rang out.

     ‘WAIT!’

     All eyes turned to the panic-stricken face of the former Bullet Club leader and in that one horrible moment, Finn knew he had made the gravest mistake of his life.

     The smile returned to Hunter’s face as he palmed the trinket. ‘Looks like your theory was spot on, Carter,’ Hunter grinned, clapping the younger man on the back. ‘You have done well tonight. And to show my gratitude I’m going to reward you. You are being promoted.’

     ‘Sir?’ Carter stared dumbfounded at his leader. Batista and Michaels wore matching expressions of shock at the revelation. ‘Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.’

     ‘I’m sure you won’t,’ Hunter replied. ‘Now, as your first order of business, I’m entrusting you with a very important decision. You get to choose the fate of our friend here.’ He nodded towards Finn who stared back helplessly. Carter’s face fell as he tried to make sense of what his leader had just said to him. As the realisation dawned, his mouth twisted into a maniacal grin that slowly crept all the way up his cheeks until every one of his sharp teeth were bared.

     ‘Give me that knife,’ Carter demanded, stretching his hand out towards Batista. The head guard paused for a moment then hesitantly pressed the blade into the tall blonde’s disfigured palm. Carter forgot all of his pain in that moment as his fingers curled around the handle of the razor-sharp knife, limping his way towards Finn who could only watch on as his hated enemy edged ever closer.

     The tall guard was stopped in his tracks by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned to find Hunter with his arm outstretched, proudly offering his sledgehammer to the younger man.

     ‘Really?’ Carter spluttered and Triple H nodded solemnly. Carter grinned like a kid at Christmas cradling the weapon as if it was the precious toy he’d set his heart on. A laugh grew inside of his belly, threatening to explode from within.

     ‘Where are you?’ Finn was yelling down at chest now. ‘I need you! I need you NOW!’

     But it was hopeless. He was all out of options. Right when his friends were in terrible danger and he was needed most. Nothing could save him now, not even the demon.

     Finn watched as Carter pulled the sledgehammer back. He closed his eyes tight so that he could not see the incoming blow.

     ‘Bayley… I’m so sorry, I have to break my pro-‘

     …

 

     The rattle blared and Colt’s head drooped. Slowly he stood up to join the rest of the prisoners as they made their way back to their cells.

     ‘We’ll try again tomorrow,’ Sami said placing a comforting hand on Colt’s back.

     ‘Yeah,’ Colt resigned.

     ‘I’m sure Finn will make it tomorrow.’

     ‘He’d better,’ Colt said with a huff, ‘or else I’m gonna kill him.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...


	46. Dean's Last Stand

_Two weeks later_

     Colt walked the length of the new fence he had just erected one last time. He grabbed a handful of mesh and shook it at intervals to ensure it was firmly gripped to the posts. It barely shivered in his hand. He nodded his head. It would do.

     The call came for the end of the day. He gathered up his tools and water bottle before marching towards the guard on duty. Mizanin did his own checks on the fence and grudgingly nodded with satisfaction. Colt held out his hand and ten tokens were placed on his palm. As he pocketed the coins, he began to march down the path towards the main building with Mizanin as his escort.

     He heard the scuffle before he saw it. In one of the pens, two of the workers were arguing with the guard over their pay and swiftly the exchange of words lead to an exchange of fists. Mizanin ordered Colt back to the building as he charged in to help his colleague. The crowd around him became sucked into the drama, some watching on with silent fascination, others baying for the two culprits, cheering them on like great heroes as they were dragged off of their victim. A stick figure of a woman was knocked over in the rush and Colt stopped to help her back to her feet before resuming his walk.

     Colt walked on, ignoring the jostling scene. Prisoners bashed into him as they ran to catch a glimpse of the action but he shrugged it off and wandered on. He dropped off his tools at the communal shed, signing them in as he’d been told before heading into Wing A. Three tokens bought him his evening meal; a stringy soup with the palest complexion he’d ever witnessed and he found an isolated spot to sit and eat in silence.

     He only managed three spoonfuls of his soup before his solitude was disrupted by two figures coming to sit opposite him, resting their own bowls on the table with a deliberate clatter.

   ‘What do you want?’ Colt asked as he quietly supped on his food.

     ‘You know what we want,’ Reigns growled, his face dark as he eyed up the crestfallen man across the table.

     ‘And I told you already, I’m out,’ Colt replied, not once looking up at the large Samoan. ‘You can go on without me.’

     ‘We can’t,’ Sami interjected. ‘Finn-‘ he paused as Colt visibly bristled at the sound of his friend’s name, ‘… he was the one who knew how to get to the maintenance room. Without him, we’ll be going into this blind.’

     ‘And how am I meant to help with that?’ Colt argued coldly. ‘I don’t know where it is either.’

     ‘You have more of a clue than us,’ Sami pointed out. ‘Plus you have your friends on the outside – you could get them to-‘

     ‘Nice try but Reigns talks to Seth and Luci way more than I do,’ Colt protested. ‘Face it, you don’t need me so just go-‘

     ‘You know what,’ Reigns leaned in close, his tone growing more vicious by the second. ‘I have had enough of your whining. All you do these days is mope around feeling sorry for yourself.’

     ‘Fuck you,’ Colt withered, lowering his head.

     ‘You think I sulked around like a baby when Dean vanished?’ Roman spat. ‘You think I just gave up? No, cause that’s not what he’d want me to do. He would tell me to keep fighting. Embarrass these bastards. Not just give up like some pathetic asshole.’

     ‘Yeah well, Dean’s not here!’ Colt shot back, incensed, ‘just like Finn’s not here and Punk’s not here. Nobody is fucking here to tell me what to do so I can do whatever the hell I want.’

     ‘So you’re choosing to sit on your ass and do nothing?’ Reigns argued, coldly. ‘You really think that’s something that Finn would-‘

     Colt cut him off by slamming his palm hard against the table. ‘Finn’s dead!’ Colt yelled at Reigns, losing control of his emotions. ‘He’s fucking dead! They killed him!’

     ‘You don’t know that,’ Sami butted in to try and soothe the distraught former wrestler.

     ‘They’ve been gunning for him since day one,’ Colt pointed out, ‘and now he’s suddenly disappeared. There’s no denying this – he’s dead and so is Dean,’ he glared at Reigns who stared back with that same cold expression, not giving anything away. ‘I lost one of the only friends I had in the world,’ Colt stammered, his voice growing husky, ‘and I didn’t even get a chance to bury him. He’s just… gone. But I still got one friend left and there’s no way in hell I’m leaving him behind. Not a chance. So like I told you both a hundred, thousand times, do want ever you want but I don’t want to be part of it. Leave me alone.’

     ‘If it was you in solitary,’ Reigns tried once last time, ‘what would Punk have done to help-‘

     ‘I AM NOT CM PUNK!!!’ Colt roared, losing his last strand of patience at last.

     ‘No, you’re not.’ Colt stopped suddenly at those words. Not because they were said with such calm ferocity but because they came from Sami. The Canadian fixed Colt with a hard stare, his red brows lowered. ‘You’re not CM Punk, you’re Colt Cabana.’ Colt lowered his head, shaking it to dismiss Sami’s words. ‘You may not believe it, but the people around here look up to you too. Punk may embody their anger but you… you embody their humanity.’

     ‘That’s not true,’ Colt rejected Sami’s claim under his breath.

     ‘It is,’ Sami protested. ‘Even after everything that’s happened, after everything they did to you, you’re still as kind and generous and as loyal as before. You could easily have gone the same route I did. After I came out of solitary, I was so scared of stepping an inch out of line again.’

     ‘Even I started falling in line after Dean disappeared,’ Reigns chimed in but Colt still refused to believe them.

     ‘Everybody in here is so scared of the consequences that they all start to care about the same thing… looking after number one. But you, you still care for other people. And often, it’s nothing big, no grand gesture. It’s the small things. I’ve seen you dropping a couple tokens next to a prisoner that hadn’t made target, I’ve seen you carry heavy loads for those who were struggling or helping others to finish their task in time when you had already finished yours.’

     ‘Stuff like that doesn’t matter,’ Colt argued weakly back.

     ‘It’s matters a great deal to these people!’ Sami shot back. ‘You ever noticed the way they look at you.’

     Colt looked up and scanned around him, expecting to find nothing and Sami’s words to be exaggerations but even he couldn’t deny the number of glances that were shot his way, looks of genuine respect from his fellow workers.

   ‘I’m tired,’ Colt said, getting to his feet with a grunt. ‘I’m gonna request an early lock-in again.’

     Sami sighed with resignation, him and Reigns watching solemnly as Colt stood up and left, trundling away to the spiral staircase that lead up to the cells. The perplexed guard didn’t debate Colt’s request since he didn’t have a cellmate and once the prisoner was safely in his room, he locked the door tight. Just as the guard placed the keys back on his belt, he heard a roar from downstairs. He sighed with exasperation as he ran to restore order to yet another fracas at the dinner queue.

 

     The dampness crept in through the back of his jumpsuit and chilled Punk’s broad shoulders as he sat back against the wall, unable to do anything but listen as Dean received his daily beating in the next room. After all the torment that the man and his cronies had caused Punk the last few months, he thought he would have found the assault on his torturer satisfying but there was no fulfillment to be had among the sickening sounds emanation through the grate. The noises of baton and boot colliding with human flesh reminded him of that scene in a movie he’d watched so long ago where the boxer was sparring in a meat locker, pounding a hunk of carcass as a make-shift punch bag. Dean didn’t cry out much but when he did it was piercing, like a dog when it’s hit by a truck.

     Punk couldn’t help but feel pity for the man seeing as he was nursing his own fresh wounds from his beating hours before. There was no rhyme or reason to these beat-downs; they would appear randomly, crashing through the door like a swarm of locusts. Once their prey was trapped under them, they hammered down with no mercy and all their hapless victim could do was try to protect their head as best they could and pray it would be over soon.

     Dean’s pounding was punctuated by one last kick. Punk knew it from the sound that ripped from Dean’s throat as the air was forced from his lungs. The sound of half a dozen boots marching calmly out of the cell was followed by a slam of the door and the sound of a lock turning. As the footsteps diminished down the corridor, Punk turned his face to the wall.

     ‘Dean?’ he called out softly. ‘You alright?’

     A strangled cough answered back and he could hear the Shield member stir, a dragging sound as he yanked himself over to the wall.

     ‘Oh I’m chipper, never better,’ he mocked and Punk rolled his eyes.

     ‘I just wanted to check in on you,’ Punk went on the defensive. ‘That sounded nasty.’

     ‘Stop acting like you fucking care,’ Dean spat back. Punk shook his head. Ever since their identities were revealed to one another it had been tense between the pair. Naturally there was a lot of resentment between them after the past few months and it killed both of them to take the other on, yet, there was still a grudging need to rely on each other to combat the isolation in those dark, damp cells. They had reached some kind of arrangement, not so much a truce as it was a stalemate. They would fill the silence with conversation but in turn, those conversations were primarily filled with insults.

     A shaky gasp from Dean quivered through the grate. ‘Shit,’ he uttered under his breath.

     ‘What is it?’ Punk asked with a mild hint of concern.

     ‘Nothing,’ Dean replied sharply.

     ‘You get a lick in this time?’

     ‘I got a great right hook in,’ Dean said smugly, ‘but the only thing I struck was air.’

     Punk wore the smallest of smiles. ‘Nice try, doesn’t count.’

     ‘It was better than you earlier,’ Dean shot back. ‘Trying a fucking knee. This aint a fucking wrestling ring, man. Fucking amateur.’ Punk was convinced that Dean was secretly trying to win the Guinness World Record for dropping the most ‘f-bombs’ per minute. Punk thought _he_ was bad for swearing but Dean was on another level. Punk swore if they ever shone some light into Dean’s cell, the air would be a deep shade of blue.

     Punk’s train of thought was cut off as a sharp pain engulfed his abdomen. He let out a small cry as the spasms grew worse, wrapping his arms tight around his stomach, feeling the bones of his forearms pressing into his flesh.

     ‘What’s wrong now?’ Dean asked, impatiently.

     ‘Hunger pangs,’ Punk rasped out as the pain refused to die down. ‘Do they ever stop?’

   ‘No,’ Dean replied honestly.

     They both went silent, their hearts skipping a beat as they heard shouting coming from outside. They listened intently as they heard the gate to the solitary corridor open, heard a cacophony of profanity laced yelling and the scuffle of feet. Soon, a door banged shut and the yelling became muffled.

     ‘Another one?’ Dean burst out. ‘This rate there won’t be anybody left to work their fucking garden. What the hell is going on up there.’

     ‘Maybe everyone’s had enough,’ Punk said aloud. ‘Sick to death of The Authority and they’re unfair system. Maybe they’re finally rising up.’

     ‘Idiots will only get themselves into deeper shit,’ Dean noted bitterly.

     ‘They were rioting that night,’ Punk said, remembering the night he was taken into solitary. ‘After I socked Carter right in the throat, there was this huge noise and they all rushed towards the guards.’

     ‘So what, you think you’re Che Guevara now or somethin’?’ Dean asked, his tone plainly mocking. ‘Some great leader of the revolution.’

     Punk snorted a laugh through his nose. ‘Naa,’ he replied. ‘Truth is, once the adrenaline hit, they actually stampeded right over the top of me too. If the guards hadn’t dragged me away, I would have been crushed.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m just another spoke on the wheel, that wheel’s gonna keep on turning. It’s just nice to think I could have that sort of an impact.’

    

     Michaels rushed through the door and felt his anger rise of seeing the familiar man standing at the window overlooking the entire Garden.

     ‘So it’s true,’ Michaels grumbled, closing the door behind him. ‘You’re back already. I didn’t expect you for several months.’

     ‘Word reached me that you were struggling,’ Triple H said as he turned to face his friend. The light from the window behind him washed his face in shadow. He was dressed in his travelling clothes instead of his normal suit, telling Michaels he had only just arrived back. The leather jacket across his shoulders was faded from the sun and his jeans were caked in dirt. ‘We weren’t far so I turned back. Thought you might need me.’

     ‘I’m dealing with this fine by myself,’ Michaels insisted.

     ‘That’s not what I heard,’ Hunter replied bluntly.

     ‘My men are doing everything they can to get things under control,’ Michaels argued.

     ‘There’s unrest among the workers,’ Hunter went on, ignoring his friend’s protests, ‘guards are being attacked daily, fights are constantly breaking out. Solitary is almost full. Targets are being missed left, right and centre.’ His voice grew louder with each statement, his anger threatening to unleash itself.

     ‘It’s a bump on the road,’ Michaels shrugged but Triple H cut him off again.

     ‘You told me this would fizzle out in a couple of days. It’s now been two weeks.’

     ‘I’m working on it!’ Michaels yelled.

     ‘You’ve failed,’ Hunter’s voice lowered to a vicious growl that shut Michaels up. ‘Now, it’s my turn.’

     ‘Fine then,’ Michaels could barely hide the acid in his voice. ‘What’s the plan?’

     Hunter looked back out the window, staring down at the citizens of Eden, nothing more than ants swarming the Garden he had worked so hard to grow, building it up on a foundation of blood and sweat.

     ‘This all started with that Punk guy, right?’ he said, his gravelly voice low as he surveyed his domain. ‘Dave said something about an… effect he has on these people. That night he chose to take a swing at one of our men, he started a full blown riot.’ He paused, waiting for Michaels to catch on. ‘He’s the key.’

     ‘We’ve already got him in solitary,’ Michaels said with a shrug.

     ‘Now see, that was our big mistake,’ Hunter said, raising a finger up onto the glass, squishing the tiny figures beneath his digit one by one. ‘Dragging him away like that, we only went and made him a martyr. Increased his influence among these deadbeats.’

     ‘How? He’s not in among them anymore?’

     ‘Doesn’t need to be,’ Hunter carried on. ‘Out of sight, they can build his legacy. Use his suffering to strengthen his sacrifice. Without him, they can raise him up to be a God.’ Hunter turned from the window to stare directly at Michaels. ‘By taking him away, we made him superhuman in these people’s eyes. We gave them hope.’

     ‘So how do we squash this hope?’ Michaels asked.

     Hunter smiled, that unsettling grin that carried half of his mouth up his cheek and crinkled one eye. He turned back to the window and scanned his most valued possession, his Garden and the insects that kept it alive in his absence.

     ‘You show them that their God is nothing more than a man,’ he hissed sinisterly.

 

     The darkness was one thing, the cruel lack of food another but it was the boredom that really got to Punk in this place. Dean had been right that first day in solitary, there really was nothing to do but sleep and think. Sleeping was difficult. There was no cosy bunk with soft mattress and fluffy pillows to sink into, just a cold, hard floor where the uneven bricks dug into his back. He was given no blanket to wrap around him to try and keep the chill away, only his jumpsuit, damp and clingy from the water that ran through his cell in a constant stream. Not to mention, there were the dreams, the vivid memories of his time with April. As much as they were a welcome escape into better times, they hurt him worse than the daily beatings and to wake from them was akin to tearing his heart from his chest cavity.

     Then there was the thinking. He thought of his family, both sets, now long dead and the things he’d wished he’d told them before they vanished into oblivion. He thought of his friends struggling in the Garden above him and worried about the fury he had brought down upon them from The Authority. With any luck, they had escaped down Finn’s drainpipe and were now safely back at Nocks with April in tow. That thought soothed him but he couldn’t prevent the pang of resentment he felt at being left behind, then the pang of guilt for feeling that resentment. He thought about every mistake he’d ever made in his life, raw nerves aching at the memories. April haunted him as much during these sessions as she did his dreams.

     Sometimes there were rare moments when Punk found a pleasant distraction from both activities, where he could combat the boredom with some novel task. Speaking to Dean was an example of this but the Shield member wasn’t a renowned conversationalist. Others were more difficult to come by. He had spent his first few days exploring his cell and his intrepid discoveries told him one thing; there was nothing there. He’d rubbed his palms over every inch of the four sparse walls, finding nothing more than small chips and cracks in the brickwork and the origin of one of the leaks in his cell. He had tried clogging it with a piece of fabric torn from the bottom of his shirt but it was as effective as plugging a single hole in a colander.

     One day he had found the door to his cell, slim but sturdy, made with a thick slab of metal. He had tried yelling out April’s name again but he had learnt very quickly that the cells were soundproof and soon gave up, making do with exploring the features of the door. He located two dips in the steel, one right at the bottom of the door where he presumed his meal was slid in and the other at eye level, a peephole for the guards to keep an eye on their prisoner. Both could only be opened from the outside – he knew this because he had tried several times to prize it open from his end. He had always found something strange about the door that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was only when he pieced together that the handle were located on the outside in order to keep him firmly locked in that his discomfort became clear. Feeling that smooth blank space where a handle would normally allow him a way out through the portal made something curl inside of his gut. After that, he preferred to explore elsewhere in his cell.

     Today, a pleasant distraction had fallen into his lap. Literally. A chunk of moss had dislodged itself from the ceiling above him and plopped right onto his idle hands. The piece was large enough to fill his palm and his jaded senses lapped up the new sensation, his fingers rubbing through the soft, feathery prickles of the moss as if it were some expensive silk. Even young children would have grown bored of the plant within seconds but Punk sat, kneading the moss through his hands for hours as he sat and focused in some sort of meditative state.

     The groan from next door snapped him out of his trance. By now the moss was nothing more than the size of a pea that he rubbed between his thumb and forefinger. With a sigh of disappointment, he threw the last of the fragment away.

     ‘Oh shit,’ Dean’s voice carried through the grate. Punk stayed silent, rubbing his hands over his worn out eyes. ‘Hey, man. You awake?’

   ‘Yeah, I’m awake,’ Punk replied, resting his head back against the cold wall. From somewhere to his right he heard the sound of water dripping. He lifted up his hand, palm facing upwards and waved it around to try and find the source.

     Another nasty groan came from Dean’s cell. Punk found the drip and held his palm steady, feeling the icy water splash onto his skin, beating rhythmically.

     ‘Tell me about your girl,’ Dean said. The sudden interest in Punk’s personal life nipped his intrigue. He brought his hand away from the leaking water and turned his face to the wall. Dean must have sensed his confusion because he added. ‘Hunger pangs – need to take my mind off it.’

     Punk wasn’t sure he wanted Dean to take his mind off his pain by possibly jacking off to images of April but hearing the pleading in Dean’s voice that he desperately tried to hide, Punk decided to give him what he asked. As he began to speak, he found himself in a predicament, he never saw coming – he wasn’t sure how to begin.

   ‘Well she…’ he stammered, his tongue knotting in his mouth from underuse. He coughed to lubricate his throat that had barely spoken all day. ‘Her name’s April, she’s got brown hair and brown eyes…’ He paused. Like some dreamy phantom, she was there in front of him, so real he could reach out and touch her. He stared at her in wild-eyed fascination, afraid to move in case the vision vanished. ‘She’s tiny,’ he said, his features softening as he remembered her, ‘doesn’t even come up to my shoulder and probably only weighs 90lbs soaking wet. You can just pick her up as easy as a kitten. She likes it when I pick her up. She’ll wrap her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck and let me carry her all day if I wanted.’

     He stopped, expecting some snarky comment or even something less savoury to emit from Dean’s cell but he was silent. Punk continued.

     ‘She’s not some china doll though, far from it,’ he carried on, a small laugh emitting through his nose. ‘She’s a wild cat, doesn’t stand for anybody’s shit, especially none of mine. She’s super protective too. This one time, she overheard these girls in the locker room saying shit about me behind my back, she went up, right to their faces and called them out on it. Girls told her to back off but she refused until they apologized. One of them (not the brightest I might add) actually slapped Ape as hard as she could round the face. Biggest mistake of her life! By the time security finally got Ape off of her, she had a chunk of the girl’s hair in her fist. I know because she proudly presented it to me like it was some sorta trophy. Think she still has it somewhere in one of her memory boxes.’

     ‘I like this chick,’ Dean said, approvingly.

     ‘That’s what I said!’ Punk declared excitedly. ‘Here she was holding this massive clump of bleached blonde hair, cheek all red from the slap, panting away like some warrior woman. I was struck dumb, had no idea what to do. She then realized how bizarre this whole thing was and said ‘you probably think I’m crazy, huh?’ I just laughed and told her ‘I dig crazy chicks’.’

     ‘Girl like that is wasted on you,’ Dean scoffs.

     ‘Probably,’ Punk said, his voice soft as he poked his finger through a tear on the knee of his jumpsuit.

     That wry chuckle sounded again. ‘You wanna know something? I was the one supposed to kill you.’

   The abrupt change in tone caught Punk off-guard. ‘What?’

     ‘We divided you guys up,’ Dean went on. Punk wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear anymore. ‘Seth had this raging boner for your boy Devitt – think his pride or something was hurt that day he overpowered him at the border. Obsessed with him, wanted nothing more than to take him down and get some of that hurt pride back. Heh, that went well, huh?’ He jeered aside to Punk, who said nothing in return. ‘Roman, he’s more focused on the job. He wanted Coltman. He was the guy who went AWOL from New Chicago, who defied his order and left his post. He was the main bounty. Roman wanted to see justice done.’

     ‘So you were stuck with me?’ Punk finished off the story for Dean, feeling queasy at this revelation.

     ‘Not quite,’ Dean corrected the Chicago native. ‘You were never a target, remember?’

     ‘Could’ve fooled me,’ Punk muttered venomously.

     ‘Bischoff let you leave,’ Dean pointed out. ‘You were a free man. It was fine until Coltman took off to join you then shit hit the fan. No, it wasn’t you I was after. It was the sweetest prize of them all.’

     ‘Luci,’ Punk tilted his head back as the answer dawned on him.

     ‘Slippery little minx she is,’ Dean said, dreamily. His tone made Punk’s skin crawl. ‘If Luci don’t wanna be found, she aint gonna be found. I needed something to draw her out. Some nice, juicy bait to dangle on the hook. Can you guess what that was?’ Dean waited for an answer but none came. He chuckled. ‘Of course you do. Once I got her out of hiding we were gonna have the most epic of battles, tear each other limb from limb, bathe in each other’s blood. The violence, the pain, the gore. Man, it was gonna be beautiful.’

     ‘Why are you telling me this?’ Punk cut in, feeling hugely thankful for the thick stonewall separating the pair at that moment.

     Dean paused for a beat. ‘Guess it’s the closest I’ll get to a confession booth.’ He shuffled uncomfortably for a moment, a shrill grunt escaping his lips as he settled back against the wall. ‘Guy like me’s got a lot to get off his chest. Things that would make a priest hurl if he heard the half of them. Truth is though, I don’t regret one fucking minute of it. Well… except for…’ He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly through his nose. ‘Did you really come all of this way just for your girl.’

     Punk couldn’t follow this conversation at all. He started to worry that Dean had completely lost his senses.

     ‘Yeah,’ Punk finally replied.

     ‘Now that’s somethin’,’ Dean replied with a warm sigh. ‘You know, we’ve been following you guys a long time. Seth would watch you most days and report back to us, telling us all the shit you went through. Fighting that Orton guy – still can’t believe that fucker bit into you like he was some freaking vampire – and then how you got sick from it. But you pulled through, hell, you managed to pull your way out of everything – when we chased you through the woods when you were on your death bed, a full out uprising from the goddam Bullet Club, shit, we even torched the house you were sleeping in and you managed to weasel your way outta that too. You should have been dead a thousand times over and yet, here you are still standing and still pining after this chick of yours.’ He chuckled but this time there was nothing sarcastic about it. ‘You should never have made it this far, ‘specially not for some crusade of ‘love’ but you did it. It’s hard not to root for a guy like that.’

     Despite himself, Punk smiled a little. Thinking back on it, it was some miracle that he had made it here. Yet despite all of the turmoils he had been through so far, his mission was still unfinished. He remembered something that Finn had said one night, when he was at his lowest ebb, running scared from the Wyatts while he struggled on his fractured leg. He had sat exhausted on the hard ground, trying to will himself through the pain (after his latest attempt to get Colt and Punk to leave him behind, which had ended in another rendition of ‘Shut up, Finn’). The break they allowed him was far too short and soon they were forcing the younger man back to his feet. As he placed his arms across their shoulders, they asked if he would be ok. He’d smiled back and said ‘ _if you go as far as you can see, you will then see enough to go even further’_. It resonated with Punk, even more so now that he was finally here, in the same space as April. The last steps were laid out before him, blurry in the distance. He just needed to get out of this cell in order to see them clearly.

     ‘You still there?’ Dean’s voice cut through his thoughts. He replied, letting the Shield member know he was listening. ‘What I’m trying to say is, man, that I kinda grew to like you guys, even if we were meant to kill you. Shame you’re such a dick in real life.’ Punk snorted a laugh. ‘I just wanted you to know that. If I go tomorrow, I don’t wanna leave any regrets.’

     Punk furrowed his eyebrows and looked towards the stonewall at his back. ‘Dean, what’s wrong?’ he asked.

     A bout of wheezy coughing replied to his query. ‘Aww, nothin’ man, I’m just spitballin’ here.’ The coughing fit overtook him again. ‘Look, I’m pretty beat. Mind if I-?’

     ‘No, go on and sleep,’ Punk responded but his concerned expression didn’t leave his face. He had sat in this cold, dark space beside Dean for two whole weeks with nothing but the other man as any form of company and he had never once known him to act this way. Something was clearly disturbing the Shield member and anything that would upset that lunatic was not good.

     Punk decided he didn’t want to think anymore and agreeing that Dean had the better idea closed his eyes and entered into a fitful doze. For once he didn’t dream, he didn’t picture April’s face, he just sank into peaceful oblivion.

     Punk was woken by a jolting in his chest as if he had just been electrocuted. His skin began to prickle as he heard that old familiar sound. The door to the solitary corridor opening with a clatter and an army of boots pounding the ground. He felt for the grate next to him and banged his fist on the metal.

     ‘Dean! Dean!’ he called out.

     ‘I hear them!’ Dean replied, his voice tense. ‘They’re coming for me.’

     ‘Wait, what?’ Punk’s head snapped down to the grate. ‘How do you know that?’

     ‘No time to explain, I need you to do something for me.’

     The marching boots were getting closer to their cells at the furthest end of the corridor. There were more than usual, he reckoned more than a dozen of them. His ears picked up another sound from near by. Scrabbling sounds like a rat clawing at the grate next to him. He bent low, place his ear close to the metal square.

     A massive clang rang out right beside his ear. He cried out in shock as his reflexes backed him away from the grate, clutching his ear, which was now ringing like a cathedral bell. The clang sounded again and again, stronger each time until the grate burst away from its socket. Punk could faintly see something through the darkness moving near the base of the wall. He bent down to examine it closer when it suddenly sprung, strong tendrils frantically grabbing him and Punk couldn’t suppress the yell of surprise as it pulled him close to the wall. Punk’s fingers were prized open and something warm and solid placed in his palm.

     ‘Got it?’ Dean asked through the now open grate. Punk nodded at first, his mind not properly processing under the pressure of the situation engulfing them. ‘HAVE YOU GOT IT?’ Dean asked again and Punk verified himself verbally this time. ‘There’s two there. Give one to Roman, the other to Renée.’

     ‘Who’s Renée?’ Punk asked as he ran the pad of his thumb over the smooth metal plates in his hand. Dog tags, his brain relayed back to him.

     ‘She’ll find you,’ Dean said back quizzically. The thumping was now directly outside of their cells, a deep commanding voice telling his troops to halt. ‘Do me another favour,’ Dean said, his normal drawl sped up to 11. ‘Find your girl and don’t do anything stupid to fuck it up.’ Punk saw more movement by the grate and this time could clearly make out the hand protruding through it, clenched up into a fist. Punk clenched his own fist and bumped his knuckles against those of Deans. ‘Safe travels, brother.’

     Dean’s fist withdrew and Punk heard scraping as the Shield member replaced the discarded grate panel. Punk kept his side open and peeked through, trying to make anything out in the encompassing darkness. He heard Dean shuffling to his feet, his breath broken by pants of pain as he found his vertical base. He heard him yell profanities towards the door, daring the men outside to come and get him. He wasn’t leaving without a fight.

     In a brilliant flash of light, his mysterious neighbor was revealed, tall and athletic, shirtless with his jumpsuit knotted around his waist, a shock of dirty blonde curls hanging over his forehead and a full matching beard across his jaw. He stood strong, his fists up to defend his face and his feet apart. A fighter’s stance.

     A roar filled the air – Punk couldn’t tell if it was from Dean or the oncoming tide of guards – and the noise was so deafening it was painful. He watched as the torches lit up Dean’s last stand, staring down his enemy as they flew closer, their lights glinting off their black armour and their batons raised high.

     Dean went rushing forward, broke through the guard’s defences and landed a rib-splitting tackle on one of the armed men. The pair of them went hurtling to the ground, the impact as they hit the stone floor knocking the guard’s helmet clean off. Dean saw his opening and never wasted a second. Raising his fist high he pounded it down on the man’s exposed face, smashing skin and cartilage. Blood smeared the man’s face and Dean’s fist as he turned towards the grate, his eyes somehow catching onto Punk’s. A gleeful smile adorned his triumphant face.

     ‘Three!’ he whooped at Punk. ‘I got three!’

     A baton swipe to his skull silenced the Shield member. He fell to the floor, the guards rushing to him like flies to a corpse and they rained the blows on Dean’s prone body without mercy. A yell tore from Punk’s throat as he watched on helplessly from the other cell. Once they were certain their quarry was well and truly beaten, two guards grabbed an arm each and lifted their fallen prey up. Punk could only watch, yelling his former enemy’s name over and over as he was dragged out of the cell and away from sight.

     Punk wasn’t giving up. He ignored the incredible pain in his body and pulled himself up to his feet. His legs were wobbly from adrenaline but he managed to stumble to his cell door. He scrabbled at the metal plate at his eyelevel, trying desperately to force the metal flap aside so he could see what was happening outside. He could hear voices and shuffling feet and if he craned his hearing, he could make out (although faintly) the sliding sound of Dean’s unconscious body being dragged away. He gave up his efforts on the metal flap and instead began slamming his fist against the steel door, yelling until his throat was raw. All the while, the sliding sound grew farther and farther and farther away until it vanished altogether.

     Punk slammed both of his forearms against the metal door, resting his head against the cold steel. His heavy breathing bounced off the plates and echoed around him. Helpless. He’d been completely helpless. He couldn’t do a damn thing to help.

     Voices were still chattering outside, about six of them. Punk tried to listen to what they were saying but they were too muffled. Something itched in the pit of his belly however. This was not over.

     He clenched his fist hard, feeling the knife-thin edge of Dean’s dog tags threatening to cut into his skin. He shoved them into the pocket of his jumpsuit, silently vowing to fulfill what Dean had asked of him. But, for now, he had his own skin to protect.

     Footsteps were surrounding his cell door.

     Dean had met his attackers head on, standing tall and ready for a fight. Punk opted for something different.

     Backing away to the centre of his tiny cell, he slowly lowered himself onto his backside, crossing his legs in a basket, arms draping loosely over his knees. He rubbed one hand over his face to wipe the sweat away before transfixing the door in a deadly glare. He would go to his fate calm and unafraid. They will never see his fear. Punk closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, and waited.

     The door opened and light flooded into the cell. If the guards were surprised to see their prisoner siting calmly on the floor like some meditating Budda, they didn’t show it. The blows fell on Punk as quickly as a hot knife through butter. Punk never once opened his eyes. Not a single sound escaped his pierced lips. The beating went on and on, longer than any he had endured until then, the aggressors never letting up once despite their victim not fighting back. Punk felt his skin enflame and his blood flow, holding out hope that nothing would snap or pop inside him.

     Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, the onslaught ended. Punk lay motionless on the ground, his eyelids still screwed shut, refusing to give these men any piece of his distress. Rough arms grabbed him under his armpits and yanked him up to his knees. He expected them to drag him away like that had down with Dean but no, they merely stood, holding him up like some trophy, and waited.

     The main door to the corridor opened. Punk remained still. The sound of marching boots ebbing closer. Punk remained still. The noise of a captive struggling against their grasp. A crease lined Punk’s brow. The newcomers marched closer to his cell. He cracked one eye open, catching a shock of brown hair as it whispered past his open door. His heart lurched up his throat and his skin began to ooze a cold sweat. His eyes were open now and they were wide with panic as he looked over his shoulder to the open grate at the rear of his cell. The newcomers and their hostage were now in Dean’s old cell, whimpering emitting from behind a gag. Punk jerked his arm, trying to break free from the guard’s hold. _No! Please God, or Gods or any such fucking thing. No! NO!_

The guard wrenched Punk’s arm at a funny angle, bursting pain through his shoulder socket but Punk could care less. He kept struggling, desperate to squirm his way out of their grasp. Gloved fingers were now in his hair, firmly holding chunks of it at the root.

     A scream tore through the air. His blood turned to ice.

     ‘APE!’ Another worldly being tore the sound from his windpipe. His legs became robotic, working on autopilot as he sprung up onto them, trying desperately to rip himself out of the guard’s grip. Two more men rushed in and together they pulled the former wrestler back down to the ground. He thrashed underneath them like a den of snakes, some of them losing their grip momentarily before they resumed their hold.

     ‘AAAAPPPEEEEE!!!!’ he bellowed her name over and over.

     ‘You wanna hear her?’ a voice above him teased. ‘Boys, let him hear his bitch.’

     They wrestled him across the ground, bringing him across his cell to the grate. A raw, potent fear was biting his innards over and over, refusing to stop, its venom spreading through his body. The grip on his hair tightened as the side of face was forced flush against the opening of the grate, his ear squished against the plate.

     The woman’s scream echoed around his skull, blinding every other sense he had in dread. Never before had such terror reared up within him. Not even the slaughterhouse on the Floridian border could inject the same feelings of alarm. He began to kick out his legs frantically, trying what he could to break free of the guards’ hold on him but all in vain.

     ‘DON’T TOUCH HER! DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER!!!’ His orders, his threats, his curses all fell on deaf ears as the screams kept coming, sobs interspersed with April’s cries of agony. Punk’s heart was breaking into a thousand pieces. He was meant to protect her.

     He was meant to protect her.

     ‘Take him away,’ a voice commanded. _No you won’t,_ thought Punk and he kicked and he jerked and he yanked with all of his might, pulling and pushing his way through the hands that were holding him fast. He felt fingers losing their grip, he heard pants of exhaustion above him and he knew he was winning. He was going to break free then he was going to break every single finger that had laid itself on April.

     The baton struck him right on the crown of his skull. It didn’t knock him out but dazed him long enough for the guards to recoup their hold on him and drag him away.


End file.
